Laugh with me, laugh at them
by the Icelandic sheep
Summary: Tyrion has a plan to exact a tiny revenge on his family, but he needs the help of his wife. Will she help and what will happen afterwards? Can they get through married life without killing each other, killing themselves or anyone else for that matter? Well, they could probably kill Joffrey... Rated T for swearing. AU, using both the book and the TV show. Spoilers for aSoS.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Some kind of AU, using both the book and the TV show. Tyrion has a plan to exact a tiny revenge on his family, but he needs the help of his wife. Not sure when in the storyline it happens.

AN and disclaimer: This is written mostly for my own sake, because after season 3 my mind wouldn't leave Tyrion and Sansa alone. I liked them in the books, but I didn't truly ship them until after last season. I blame Peter Dinklage for that. There is no actual plot in this, and I truly have no idea when this happens. It might be before Joff's wedding, maybe that "certain thing" didn't happen in the wedding and this is later… I don't know. It doesn't matter. Please enjoy. And disclaimer? Seriously? I don't own shit.

Chapter 1

"Sansa?"

"Yes, my lord."

Tyrion sighed. An idea had been brewing in his mind for quite some time, and it needed to be put into motion soon. But he needed his wife cooperation. She sat in their solar, staring at some needlework she had been working on for the last week. It didn't look like she had done much in those days. He'd almost given up on reminding her of his name, it didn't seem like it was much use.

"I have been thinking," he started. She didn't look very impressed with this fact, but her eyes diverted themselves to him for a fraction of a second. He sighed again and started pacing in front of her.

"I've been thinking about our situation, and how others view it." How would he put this in words without sounding like an idiot?

"I am not happy. You are not happy. I'm content, you're… well, you've covered yourself in such icy courtesies that there doesn't seem to be any way to reach you, so I have no idea how you truly feel. But do you know who are happy? The King, my beloved sister and my dear father. They are happy because we are unhappy." He stopped pacing in front of Sansa. She had her eyes fixed on her needlework.

"Please do me the wondrous favor of looking at me from time to time, Sansa."

"Yes, my lord," she answered in her courteous and hollow voice and took few seconds to look at his face.

"This is the situation we're in. I have a strong need to change it. I want us to be the happy ones, and my family to be miserable, even if just for a day." Sansa had the good graces to look at him again for a split second. "Do you have any suggestions as to how we might accomplish that goal?" he asked her.

"No, my lord."

"Well, I have. And it's so very simple in thought, but might be more difficult in action." He took a step closer to her. Should he put his hands on her knees? No, that would be too much for her. The armrest was a safer choice.

"So very simple, we might pull it off if you're willing to help me. Do you think you could do that?"

"If it will please my lord husband."

"It would please your lord husband very much, but I'm counting on that it will also please you, seeing as you have little love for my family." He put his palms on the armrest and leaned slightly closer to her.

"If we act as if we're happy, they will be unhappy," he whispered. Sansa arched her eyebrows.

"What do you mean, my lord?" she asked, sitting slightly straighter. Or was she trying to get further away from him?

"My father doesn't want to see me happy. Well, in truth, he doesn't want to see me at all. I don't think he cares much if you're in high spirits or low, but he has no special vendetta against you, no more than he has against most of other people that breathe in the realm. My sister and her son want to see us miserable, and they know we are extremely miserable when sitting awkwardly at a feast surrounded by couples that are much more perfect than we can ever hope to be." He poked her knee. "That's what we are going to change tomorrow night."

"How so, my lord?"

"We will make them miserable with our happiness!" Tyrion exclaimed, smiling at his simple solution.

"Our happiness?" she echoed, confusion etched into her face. Tyrion took her needlework from her hands, put it on a table, and took her hands in his.

"My dear lady wife, for just one night, could you act as if you were happy? You don't have to go around kissing me, that might be a bit over the top, but if you could just… smile for me. Laugh with me, scold me for drinking too much and steal my cup every now and then, smile at other people. Can you imagine how annoyed my nephew will be at seeing you happy? And my sister, she'll be absolutely wretched when she sees that my marriage is not a complete failure!" He squeezed her hands. "It will be our revenge, no matter how little it is. Just for one night, one feast."

Sansa's eyebrows were knotted together, her mouth slightly open and her hands completely slack in his. For few moments she tried to stutter something unladylike, until she managed a sentence.

"You want me to act as if I am happy?"

"Yes."

"To make your family unhappy?"

"Yes!"

She looked down at their hands. It was the only physical contact they'd had for weeks. After some very concentrated thinking she looked back at him and asked:

"Do you think it would actually work?"

Tyrion could have danced at this response.

"My wonderful, beautiful Sansa, I do not doubt it for one second!" Was he overdoing the praising? Nah, not in this situation. "They will be sour and displeased with us, and I will make sure that my nephew will not get a chance to get you alone, my father will think for some horrible moments that he did us a favor by marrying us, and we shall _laugh_ at them!" He kissed her knuckles. "It will be a wonderful feast!" he declared.

"And will I…" she took a deep breath, "will I truly be allowed to berate you for drinking excessively?"

"Excessively, yes. But you must allow me to drink something. Although, I have been thinking of getting you drunk for some time, so if you agree to drink all the cups you take away from me…" he trailed off, not sure the sentence should have gone in this direction.

"I am not sure if I would like to get _drunk_, my lord. Ever," Sansa answered warily. Tyrion cursed in his mind. Why did he have to bring that up? They both knew why he'd want her to drink away all her senses. Perhaps he could rectify that notion.

"No, Sansa. I do not want you drunk so that I can take advantage of you. I want you drunk so that I can speak with you without having to hear "if it please my lord husband" in every other sentence. I want you drunk because I like drunk people and think they can be quite interesting." He let go of her hands and turned around to walk away. "But none of that now." He stopped in the doorway. "Do you truly think you can, for one night, act as if the demon monkey that is your husband is not the worst thing that could have happened to you in King's Landing?"

Sansa stretched her hand to get back her needlework from the table. "My lord, I do not have to act. You are not the worst thing that has or could happen to me here," she said in her soft voice. "I think tomorrow evening might turn out to be quite fun," she added as he was about to walk away. The corners of his lips turned slightly upwards and he waddled away.

"And my name is Tyrion!" he called before closing the door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I've already written (roughly) the first five chapters, I'm just editing them, between working and reading for school. Please let me know of any grammar/spelling errors, and if I'm using lord/lady titles in a wrong way. There's no actual hierarchy in Iceland, so I'm just trying to use what information I've gathered from AsoIaF.

Chapter 2

Tyrion had begun his day rather early. Not wanting to tempt Sansa's mood and acting skills too much, he made sure to keep away from her most of the day. He also knew that before every feast she took a long bath and her maids needed time to braid her long hair and make her ready, so it would be quite easy to avoid her. And it wasn't unusual that he'd avoid her during the day, the only time they spent together was when they had dinner, and those few moments were long and awkward. It was therefore very confusing that he felt the need to see Sansa at various points during the day. What if she wouldn't comply after all? What if she'd spend this evening like all others, courteous, cold and uninterested in everything around her? Would it be better if he saw her during the day to make sure she was still all right with their plan to make his family miserable?

No, it would be for the best if he stayed away, he reminded himself. But at last the sun was starting to lower, and he all but ran to his apartments to change into a more festive garb. He could hear splashing in the bath when he entered, and searched his mind for a logical reason to enter the room, but couldn't come up with anything useful. _Does a husband need a reason to take a look at his wife bathing? _his head answered him. The voice sounded suspiciously like Bronn, so he decided it would be best ignored. As always, Pod had helped him dress and be ready long before Sansa was even halfway through her clothing ritual.

"Do you know how many layers she sometimes wears?" Tyrion asked his squire.

"Who, my lord?"

"The septa at Casterly Rock. My wife, of course, who's being dressed in the next room, you poor boy!"

"N-no, my lord."

"Guess. Don't look so scared, you won't be beheaded if you guess wrong."

"Uh, eight layers, my lord?"

"No, but she probably did in Winterfell. But I think I counted five sometime. Why do they have to wear so many layers? It is still quite warm here. Although, come to think of it, all those layers do seem rather thin. Maybe it's just so it takes longer to undress them, what do I know?" Tyrion shrugged and sat on his bed.

"Quite a lot, my lord," Pod answered, still looking at the floor.

"What?"

"You know quite a lot. My lord. About things. And subjects. My lord." Pod looked like he'd burst with shame and embarrassment.

"Yes, that is true Pod, I know quite a lot about things and various subjects. Now go away, I think I'll catch a nap until my wife is finished." Tyrion waved his hand and made himself comfortable. He wasn't planning on falling asleep though, he simply wasn't in the mood for Pod now. Instead, he focused his mind on thinking of how he could make sure Sansa remained happy and smiling for the whole feast. If she'd allow herself to let go of her courteousness and not take any of his teasing seriously, then it might all go well. But for Sansa to let go of her courteousness was equal to him letting go of his sarcasm. Maybe they'd work around it. Somehow. Who would attend tonight? Was there anyone he could make fun of without being overly rude?

He was deep in his thoughts when Sansa finally emerged. The day had been surprisingly trying for her, and she wasn't quite sure how she'd make it through the evening. He wanted her to act happy, around him and where other people could see. Well, mostly his own family, she guessed he didn't really care about the rest.

But how would she pull it off? It felt wrong to smile and laugh around him, and it would most likely end up being terribly forced. His little plan, and he seemed so immensely proud of it, would fail and they would all see how miserable she was. But he had been so glad when explaining it all to her, he had grasped her hands in effort to convince her and his mismatched eyes had been glowing with giddiness when she accepted. She had decided, while her hair was being put up in a more northern-style than usually, that their situation couldn't really get any worse. It really could only go upwards from there. At least they wouldn't be able to ruin anything that wasn't already ruined in their marriage.

It was therefore a rather determined young she-wolf that emerged into Tyrion's vision that evening. She was dressed in various shades of blue, while he continued with the Lannister red.

"Ladies," he addressed her maids, "how can you make my wife even more beautiful than she already is?" They smiled and curtsied for him, but made no answer before leaving. He jumped down from the bed and poured them two glasses of wine.

"My lady," he said as he handed her one glass. Then he raised his own and made them clink together.

"Tyrion," she replied. He thought she looked almost amused over the brim of her glass as his eyebrows got lost under his hair.

"How do you know my name?" he asked.

"I had a visit from a demon monkey. He told me several times, and seemed quite angry every time I forgot it," she said with the straightest face he'd ever seen on her. The only thing that betrayed her was a slight glint in her eyes.

"Give my greetings and thanks to that demon monkey, I seem to owe him quite a bit."

Sansa bowed her head vaguely.

"What if your sister won't even notice us?" she asked in a small voice.

"Don't worry, she will. Any sign of us not being our usual selves will alert her immediately. And trust me on this one, any sign of us showing some sign of happiness will trouble her deeply, she will spend the evening wondering about what horrible plots we could be making. It will ruin her night!" He looked way to happy about the prospect of his sister being miserable.

"And the King?"

"I'm not sure about him. He might…" Tyrion looked at the rest of his wine and then glanced at Sansa. "Please do not wander off tonight. Or tomorrow. He might think it's up to him to balance out your happiness. Keep close to me tonight, and he won't touch you."

Sansa nodded again.

"I'm working on finding you a bodyguard, but I can't seem to find anyone that would disobey the King to protect you and get paid by me. But we will find someone." He did his best to smile. "Finish your wine, Sansa, we have to get going. Now, are you ready for the smallest revenge in the history of the Seven Kingdoms?" he asked and held his hand out to her. A shy smile played on Sansa's lips.

"No, but it is now or never," she said in her gentle voice and took his hand.

"It's alright, Sansa," he said as he opened their chamber doors, "if you don't know what to do, just laugh. Or make fun of me. In a nice way."


	3. Chapter 3

AN: I have no idea why there's a feast or what they're celebrating. It's not important for the plot. And just so you know it, I'm open to all suggestions and ideas of what should happen in the future of this fanfiction. I've already written the next two chapters, working the sixth, but after that, I have no clue how long I'll continue it.

Chapter 3

The feast was moderate. It was held in the Small hall, but it seemed there were slightly more guests now than at their own wedding. Tyrion was truly amazed at how determined Sansa seemed to be on playing the part of the happy wife. She even paid her respects to Cersei with a small smile! Fortunately the man behind them, some distant relative, was obnoxious enough to demand all the attention and therefore saved them from Cersei's questions about their sudden smiles and giddiness.

Tyrion tugged his wife's hand to make her look down.

"I just wanted you to know, you're doing wonderfully. Cersei and father think we're up to something tonight. King Joffrey is probably planning on how to ruin your night, but I promise you, I will do everything in my power to keep that from happening," he whispered to her.

"Thank you, Tyrion. You seem to be keeping your own snide comments to yourself, which I believe is also praiseworthy," Sansa whispered back and gave his hand a slight squeeze. Tyrion snorted, this wasn't exactly what he had expected her to say.

"We should continue." She gave him one of her smaller, shyer smiles and went in search of more nobles that had to be greeted. At last they could sit down, Tyrion could already feel his legs starting to cramp from all his walking during the day. A part of him started to wonder how long it would be until he could trick Sansa into massaging his feet after days such as this, but he quickly dismissed that thought. But it would be awfully nice…

"So, Sansa," he said and grabbed a fork to attack the food with, "will you play a game with me, to keep us amused while we are sitting?"

"It depends on the game, my lord Tyrion."

"It's quite easy. Take a look over the room. If you could kill anyone in here for any reason, who would it be and why? I don't want us to be predictable, so my family is excluded from this." When seeing the partly horrified and partly confused look on her face, he realized this had been too soon or too much. He leaned over to her.

"No, don't look at me like that, this game is meant purely for amusement. I'll start. Look, see the man in blue, between two ladies in white and purple? I'd want him dead because I think he's too tall. And I want his nose. And those boots, I want a pair of them in my own size. It's not supposed to be an actual reason…" he lowered his voice and put his cup to his lips, "unless you're the Mad King or my nephew." Sansa raised an eyebrow at him and swatted his shoulder slightly.

"Don't say such things," she whispered. Tyrion shrugged.

"Your turn. Whom and why?"

Sansa looked over the hall. "Close to the door, young woman with dark hair, wearing gold and green, turning her back to us. I'd kill her because I want her hair. It's so black that it's almost blue, and so beautifully curly." She turned to look at Tyrion. "Am I doing this right?"

"I think you're getting the hang of this game. Now, do you see the older gentleman with the mustache?"

"There are several older gentlemen with a mustache in the hall, my lord."

"But there is only one with _the_ mustache."

Sansa tried to see where he was looking, and sure enough, there really was only man with _the_ mustache in the hall.

"The one with the magnificent mustache that should have its own sigil?"

"The very one. I want that mustache. I'd kill for that mustache. One could command armies with it, I don't understand why this man is not Lord Supreme Emperor of the world yet!"

Sansa couldn't help it. She could feel it building up, waiting to break free. At that moment a burst of laugh, pure and joyous laugh, escaped from her lips. A sudden image of Tyrion with this King of the Mustaches popped up into her mind, which only made her laugh harder.

"You'd look awful with it," she said at last and shook her head, tears running down her face from laughing, and still smiling the first real smile that had graced her lips for months. People were starting to give them looks. The Master of Coin and his wife were not usually the center of merriment.

"Look on the bright side, it _would_ cover a large part of my face," Tyrion pointed out.

"I think it would cover your whole face. _And_ your chest." She wiped few tears away. "I must admit, I think I like your face better the way it is. I know that a lion is your sigil, but having a mane yourself is too much, you know."

"Yes, that might be taking it too far. But it's your turn now. Find someone. Try to outdo me and the Master of Mustaches!"

"No, I will not try to do that. But let's see..."

And so, one by one, they killed almost everyone in the Hall before the main course was finished. They had a wonderful time.

"Now tell me, Tyrion," Sansa said as the dishes were being taken away, "is this a common game among the nobles, or did you make it up yourself?"

Tyrion snorted slightly.

"I made it myself, a long time ago. It keeps me calm during situations such as these," he muttered and reached for his cup. Sansa reacted before she could think and grabbed the cup a moment before Tyrion.

"You've had quite enough as it is," she said and put the cup to her other side. Tyrion's hand was still outstretched to grab the cup, his eyes were widened and his eyebrows seemed to reach his hairline. He put his hand down, furrowed his brow and looked up to Sansa.

"I do not believe that I will ever have enough," he said as he drummed his fingers on the table. Dessert was being served.

"Just wait, my dear husband, you will get your cup back."

"And by the time I get it back, the wine won't taste as well. Please drink it yourself now, or let me have it!" he said and made futile attempt to extend his arm over Sansa and get the cup. She was doing her best to hide her grin as she put her palm on Tyrion's chest and pushed him back into his seat.

"Fine, but only so you will stop bothering me about it," she said and drank the rest of the cup. Tyrion waited expectantly for the cup to be returned to him. Sansa raised an eyebrow and put it down, still too far away for her husband to get it.

"You're not getting it back just yet, I am not planning on carrying you back to our chambers, you know," she said, reached for her own cup and put it to her lips. Tyrion made another attempt to reach it, but Sansa leaned out of reach and pushed him yet again down.

"Be patient, my dear husband," she chided him. He crossed his arms and sank into his seat. "You're like an overgrown child that's being denied sweets."

"Well, I'm the size of a child and in my mind, this wine is my "sweets" that _you're_ denying me!" He glared at her. "Evil wife. You're growing too bold and too fast. I've unleashed a monster." He sighed.

"More like a direwolf," Sansa whispered into his ear. Her cheeks were growing red and warm from the wine, and she was feeling inexplicably happy from teasing her husband. Tyrion grinned back at her.

"Very well." He looked to his other side and saw a flagon waiting for him. Sansa followed his gaze, leaned over Tyrion and stretched her long arm to take the flagon herself. Tyrion was too busy having her bosom pushed right into his face to really care, until she leaned back with the flagon in her hands.

"But my dear wife, I am thirsty. Will you deny a thirsty man his drink?"

She sighed and put their cups in front of her.

"Do not get greedy, I'm thinking of rationing you," she said and poured the wine. Tyrion put one hand on Sansa's arm and the other around his cup.

"Sansa," he whispered softly, "take a look at my lovely sister. Can you also see the smoke coming from her?" Sansa glanced around until she saw Cersei. Sure enough, her jaw was clenched, her posture stiff and she seemed seething with rage. Sansa was startled when she realized that this anger was directed at her. Her happiness, teasing and light banter with Cersei's little brother. They weren't supposed to happy, they were supposed to be awkward and miserable, like they were at their own wedding. None of the Lannisters wanted to see her smile, except the one who was sitting beside her, giddy with joy at seeing his sister, at last, unhappy about his position. Sansa searched around the hall. She made eye contact with Margaery, who gave her a smile and a nod. Beside her sat Joffrey, who glanced barely up when he felt her gaze. Would he try to punish her in some way for this evening? Would he ever want to see her smiling? What if she did have a child at some point, would he allow her to be happy about that? She looked further until she found Lord Tywin. It was impossible to say if he had noticed their little play, to her he always looked angry at something. Suddenly she gasped. Her mind had just devised a wonderful plan for her future!

"Yes, Tyrion, she's raging." She gulped down the wine in her cup, tilted her head down and kissed him on the cheek. "But you have to excuse me, I need a word with your father."

Tyrion hadn't quite comprehended what Sansa said until she was gone, thanks to her kiss that had startled him terribly. His father. What on earth did she need to speak to his father about? And how would she do that without failing and falling down from sheer fright and panic? He grabbed the flagon and watched her make her way around the hall. He did not want to remain sober while watching this catastrophe unfold. He should have stopped her. Fuck, he should at least have found out _why_ she needed to speak with the bloody man! He sorely regretted encouraging her to drink. The wine had clearly done things to her judgement.

There, she had gained his father's attention. She curtsied, always polite, he bowed his head slightly. She spoke a few words. He raised an eyebrow. Was that a look of interest? She took a step closer. _No, don't go so close to the lion's mouth! _She moved her hands slightly, as if to explain something. His father nodded.

Tyrion drummed his fingers and drained the cup. He should go there and help her. But she seemed to be doing just fine. But still. No, what if he'd just ruin everything for her by coming to her "rescue"? She'd never forgive him, and they were getting so well along tonight! Wait, what was happening now? His father was speaking now, Sansa nodding every now and then and agreeing with every word. Then he bowed his head deep, much deeper than he had when he greeted her, and she curtsied with such grace and dignity that Tyrion thought he'd die from pride. She turned around, but his father said something that made her stop. She turned back to him, a small, wry smile on her lips when she answered. His father's lips turned upward as well. But not from joy, no, clearly not. Whatever her answer, his father seemed to accept it. Then they parted. Sansa walked rather quickly to her seat.

"Now, tell me, my dearest Sansa, what were you-"

"Not now," she cut him off, reached for the flagon, poured her cup full and drank it all in few gulps. "Not now, Tyrion, and maybe never. When the time is right. Gods, I didn't think I had this in me," she said in a soft voice. Her cheeks weren't flushed; they were almost the same shade of red as her hair.

"Whatever you spoke of, I am immensely proud of you for doing it on your own," Tyrion said. Sansa nodded and glanced around, taking heavy breaths. Then she finally looked back at Tyrion and smiled.

"Thank you."


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Thank you to The Mad-Reader for suggesting I use Cersei's POV as well! I had some trouble with it, though, so it's not very long. I can't remember how she acted in her POV's in the books, and I'm too lazy to find out...

* * *

Chapter 4

Cersei had not been expecting anything special from this feast. She hadn't thought anything of interest would happen. She had therefore not been prepared when that little dove who shared a marriage bed with her little brother came beaming to her and greeted. Tyrion was all but skipping beside her, holding her hand, pulling her down and whispering to her. He was smiling too much.

"Have you noticed them?" she asked her father as they were getting ready to sit down.

"Whom?"

"The Stark girl and the Imp. They're up to something. I know it." He glanced in their direction.

"She's no longer the _Stark girl_. She's neither a Stark nor a girl," he answered. Cersei motioned a servant to come.

"Keep close to Lord Tyrion and his wife, listen to their conversations for some moments, and then tell me what they spoke of," she ordered. She saw her father's expression change slightly at this, but he didn't object. Margaery seemed to be keeping Joffrey's attention away from his uncle. Cersei wasn't sure anymore whom she should keep a better eye on; Margaery or Sansa. She noticed that the latter was laughing so hard that tears were starting to stream down her face. Nothing Tyrion said could have been that amusing. The servant returned shortly.

"They are speaking of rather mundane things and, uh, playing a game," he said with some hesitation.

"What kind of game?"

The servant hesitated even more.

"It's... forgive me, m'lady, but it seems to be a game where they find reasons to kill people. Stupid reasons that don't make sense." He hesitated again, but Cersei's look made it clear that everything should be said. "They decided to leave out Lord Tyrion's family."

"Wonderful. Thank you for this information, you may resume your other duties again." She gripped the knife in her hand. She needed Varys and his spiders to keep a closer eye on the pair from now on. Her _valonqar_ was without doubt making his wife part of some plan to... to...

Margaery's laughter made it difficult to think a coherent thought, it had the ability to get into one's mind. Cersei looked to her right, where her son had obviously shared some great joke.

She spent the rest of her dinner looking at Tyrion and Sansa laughing and smiling, with Sansa even taking the cup away from Tyrion, and him trying to obtain it again, without avail. At some point her father had grown tired of sitting beside her while she was glaring daggers at them, and started to mingle with the crowd. There, the little she-wolf had finally risen, probably growing tired of forcing herself to laugh at Tyrion's jokes.

"_What_ do you need from _him_?" she said under her breath when she approached Lord Tywin. She saw them converse, but they seemed to be doing their best to make no one else hear them. Was she trying to entice her father-in-law? That would hopefully end with a public humiliation on Sansa's part.

"What did the little she-wolf need from you?" Cersei asked as her father returned to his seat.

"I do not believe that is any of your business, but I will have you know she has more sense than you give her credit for," he answered. She was not ready to let it go so easily.

"Was she asking to be married to another Lannister? Did she finally decide that Tyrion wasn't good enough for her?" She watched Sansa sit down beside Tyrion, who looked completely dejected. It didn't take long for the girl to make him smile again.

"Or maybe she was explaining to you how he's completely under her control now. Look at them, he's starting to look like a love-sick puppy. She has him under her heel."

"I have no objections against Lady Sansa controlling Tyrion, he seems to be enjoying it. Just because you had no control over your own husband, doesn't mean anyone else shouldn't." Lord Tywin stood abruptly up and stalked away from the table. Cersei cursed herself and stood up as well. Of course he didn't object to that she-wolf holding power over Tyrion. What little she remembered of her mother and had heard from other people, was that Joanna controlled Tywin's heart.

"Joffrey, I don't think Sansa has danced at all tonight. Go and ask her, I'm sure she'd be thrilled. She's been spending far too much time with your uncle," she whispered to Joffrey before making her way to the exit.

* * *

Sansa made her way around the hall, her eyes fixed on Lord Tywin Lannister. She made eye contact with him and made it known that she wanted his attention, which he obliged.

"My lord Hand," she said and curtsied.

"My lady," he answered and tipped his head slightly.

"Might I have a few words with you, my lord? It concerns my marriage to your younger son."

Lord Tywin raised an eyebrow and nodded for her to continue. Sansa took a step closer, not wanting others to hear what she had to say.

"For some reason it has not gone unnoticed by the court, or anyone else for that matter, that the consummation of our marriage has yet to take place. I know that if we were to keep that up, the marriage could be set aside, but that is not my intention." She took a deep breath. She'd have to get to the point quickly, otherwise she'd lose his interest. "I know that people have been making up various reasons for that, but I will have you know that there is but one."

Lord Tywin motioned for her to continue.

"It is King Joffrey." She saw no emotion on Lord Tywin's face when receiving this information. "I have known His Grace since he arrived with his father in Winterfell and before he became king, and I have been around him in King's Landing for quite some time now. I daresay I know him better than many other people in court. He has made sure of that I know my place and to remind me of my treacherous family with… various methods. As long as it only concerns me, I do not wish to make complaints, the King can do as he chooses. But should I become pregnant and carry a Lannister child, I would fear for the safety of me that child." She looked into the eyes of her father-in-law and lowered her voice even more. "He has no love for the Stark-family, with good reason, and I do not believe that he would want that child to see the light of day, knowing that it would bring me joy to have a child of my own, and that it would have Stark-blood in its veins. I am asking for your protection, that you will do what you can to make sure your grandchild will see the light of day without any interference from the King, and continue that protection the best you can after that child is born."

Lord Tywin seemed in deep thought.

"And why should I do that?"

"Because as the Hand of the King and his grandfather, you have considerable influence over him. I know that you wish for the Lannister-line to continue, and it _can_ do that through Tyrion. The North would celebrate a grandchild of the Starks, for there will be several generations yet until they will all remember my family as the traitors they truly were. Until then, it might pacify the older people. But should that child die in my womb, and the smallfolk start speaking of its death and spread stories, the North would be in a uproar. That is an unnecessary problem which could easily be avoided." She stood up a little straighter, but still keeping her voice low and soft. She had said it all. Now all she had to do was wait for him to chop her head off.

He didn't. He took few moments to stare Sansa down, but at last, he answered.

"I must admit, this is not what I had imagined you to ask of me." He made sure to tower over her as he spoke. "But I understand your concerns and your anxiety, I have heard that you have come to recognize the quirks of my grandson rather well. I can not truly promise you anything, but from the moment I will hear of your pregnancy, and no sooner, I shall do my best to make sure the King will have something else to… attend to, should he grow idle and bored. Should the child be brought into this world, well and healthy, I might ship you and Tyrion off to a household of your own, preferably outside of King's Landing. Does that satisfy as an answer, my lady?"

"From the moment you hear of my pregnancy," she echoed to make sure he knew she had understood him. "Yes, my lord, it is more than satisfying." She bowed deeply. "Thank you. I shall be in your debt, my lord." She turned away.

"Should the child _not _be born healthy..." he added in a low voice behind her. Sansa turned back to him with a neutral look.

"… but be cursed with the same monstrosity as your husband then it will not live to see another day," he finished. She looked at her feet for a second, then back at her husband's father.

"Having one of his kind in my life is more than enough, Lord Tywin," she answered, allowing a pitying smile to play on her lips.

"Very good." He half-turned from her, and the discussion was clearly done on his part. Sansa could feel her cheeks getting flushed, and suddenly all the wine she had been drinking went to her head. This conversation had been one of the most difficult she'd ever had. It had taken all her courage, and probably more. Courage from family members that were dead and didn't need to be brave anymore. It had been hard. It had been awful.

It had worked!

She took her seat beside Tyrion, noticing the half-empty flagon in front of him.

"Now, tell me, my dearest Sansa, what were you-"

"Not now," she cut him off. She didn't want to tell him just yet what had transpired. Instead she reached for the flagon, poured her cup full and drained it. Tyrion looked almost hurt. "Not now Tyrion, and maybe never. When the time is right. Gods, I didn't think I had this in me," she said in a soft voice. She could feel not only her cheeks growing warmer by the minute, but every part of her. Tyrion looked at the table and shrugged.

"Whatever you spoke of, I am immensely proud of you for doing it on your own," he said. Sansa nodded and glanced around, taking heavy breaths to calm herself down. It suddenly occurred to her that Tyrion was waiting for her to say something.

"Thank you."

He still looked sad and disappointed though, and why shouldn't he? He'd never liked being left out of things, especially if they concerned his family. Sansa leaned over to him and grabbed his hand gently.

"Don't get all pouty now, it's no use. I will tell you what we talked about, but not here and not tonight. Besides, you are starting to look far too drunk and dejected for your wonderful plan to work, please stop it. Make some inappropriate jokes if it makes you feel better," she said to him and squeezed his hand.

"Our plan," he muttered, still not looking at her face.

"What?"

"It's not _my_ plan, it's _our_ plan. Without you, it would have been absolutely useless. If it had been just me sitting and acting all jolly, it wouldn't have worked." He still looked miserable as he said it.

"Here's something to make you happy: you got me drunk, my lord husband. At least I think you did. It feels like you did." She pulled him closer and kissed the top of his head. "And now I'm sure you did, otherwise I'd never have done that!"

That did make him look up and smile a little.

"You're right. We can't fail now! We've gone too far already and things are going too well. Should we try to dance? I'm sure that would at least make other people laugh."

"No, Tyrion, because at some point we would have to change partners and we all know whom I'd end up with. We shall sit here and continue to make fun of others."

"Fine. You just keep on waiting for the next time I ask you to dance," he said sullen, but looked quite content.

"You mentioned before that you were searching for a bodyguard for me. I know the perfect candidate, but I don't think he'd be allowed in King's Landing," Sansa said and sipped her wine. Should she stop drinking? She was getting quite light-headed, but the taste of the wine was getting considerably better with each cup.

"Oh? Who would that be?"

"Sandor Clegane." She looked at Tyrion. "The Hound. I think he would save me from a fire if needed."

Tyrion nodded solemnly.

"He did cross my mind. It seems that before I came, he was the only bloody person that tried to treat you like a human being. Wouldn't we make a fine trio, the Hound, the Traitor's Daughter and the Demon Monkey?" Tyrion chuckled at his own joke.

"It would have been perfect. You have the brains, he has the strength. I'd be untouchable." For a moment, a wistful look appeared in her eyes, the idea of no one being able to harm her anymore. But it was quickly dismissed, for she could be harmed through others. Like when her family-in-law managed to let the rest of hers be butchered.

"And now I've made you sad for some reason," Tyrion remarked. Sansa sighed and shook her head.

"I shouldn't be thinking sad thoughts here. We should be planning our next step, to make this the second smallest revenge in Westeros." Her cup was empty again. What kind of wine were they serving? It tasted much better than all she'd tasted until now.

"Our next step?" Tyrion adjusted himself in his seat. "Well, I don't think that there is more to do here tonight. I've made you laugh, you've teased me, we've been grinning like idiots and had a wonderful evening, all the time making my sister seethe with rage." He shrugged. "I think that's even more than I anticipated when I proposed this idea to you."

"But what of tomorrow?" Sansa asked with a smile. Tyrion opened his mouth to answer, but before he could make any words, a shadow fell on Sansa's face. He looked to his right, and there was his nephew, taking the empty seat beside him.

"Dear nephew. How kind of you to grace your uncle with your presence tonight," Tyrion said through clenched teeth. Sansa's hand found his and gripped it tightly.

"Yes, you two looked like you needed the company. Almost everyone around you is dancing, I am wondering why _your_ lady isn't joining them. I'd gladly spin her around," King Joffrey answered.

"Your Grace, I would rather remain by my husband's side tonight," Sansa answered in her most polite voice.

"Yes, I don't know if you've noticed, but we've been having a tremendous time at this feast, and were hoping to continue in that general direction of "fun", Your Grace," Tyrion said and reached for the flagon, only for Sansa to grab it first and put it at a safe distance.

"No, I did notice it. Did you finally bed and break the she-wolf, uncle? Or is it her that has you under her heel?"

"I think it's a little bit of both, as it should be in every healthy marriage," grumbled Tyrion.

"Well, since you are in such a healthy marriage, please share your wife and allow her to dance." Joffrey stood up. "Come, my lady, I insist that you dance." He held out his hand for her, making sure everyone saw them should she reject. Sansa glanced at Tyrion, who looked ready to lash out at his nephew, bent down to him and whispered to him:

"I'll be alright, just wait and watch."

Then she straightened, took Joffrey's hand and walked with him to the dance. Tyrion clenched his fist and berated himself for not standing up to his nephew. He would have, but Sansa had made it clear that she didn't want any trouble by refusing. And he had promised her protection from Joffrey if she kept close to him! He watched as Joffrey let go of her arm so they could take their place in the dance, but suddenly, with a very undignified cry, Sansa tripped over her own feet and fell to the floor.

Tyrion scrambled to his feet and ran to her.

"No, it's quite alright." Already a small crowd had gathered around her to make sure she wasn't hurt. "It seems I've had too much wine for the night, and, oh, thank you dearest." She took Tyrion's hand and stood up, but didn't let her left foot touch the ground.

"Oh, no, there's no need for a maester, it feels like a slightly twisted ankle. I've had worse, I'll make sure to seek help tomorrow if I'm still limping, thank you." She smiled and made sure that every lord and lady surrounding her knew she was unharmed. She turned to the King.

"Your Grace, I will have to owe you one dance for a later time, it seems my foot will not allow me to dance tonight," she said and did a small curtsy.

"Of course, my lady," he answered, not even trying to hide his annoyance. Tyrion guided Sansa's hand onto his shoulder so she could lean easier onto him. It probably looked ridiculous, but he didn't mind. At the moment he was busy congratulating them on Joffrey's good mood, he would have had Sansa whipped for this disgrace few months ago and probably chopped her foot off and then made her dance. Perhaps Lord Tywin and Margaery had managed to put a small leash on him in public places.

"We should retire for the night, Sansa, to avoid further incidents," he said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father. He looked almost amused. What in seven hells had he and Sansa been conversing about?

"Yes, my dear, that is a most marvelous idea. Good night." Sansa bowed her head to the people around her, Tyrion didn't bother with such niceties, seeing as he was busy making sure she kept her balance. They waddled and hobbled to the exit, Sansa's hand on her husband's shoulder to make sure her left foot touched the ground as little as possible. When they were nearing the door Tyrion noticed Sansa's smile and how lightly her hand was on his shoulder. Suddenly he understood.

"You..." he stared at her. "You little... _vixen_!"

Sansa gave a most unladylike snort and glanced down at him.

"I told you I'd be alright," she whispered with a mischievous smile. Tyrion chuckled, and was about to praise Sansa for her cleverness, but was interrupted by his favorite sister, who was standing right outside the doorway. She was fuming.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: extremely drunk Sansa will be featured in this chapter, so she might be a bit out of character. But aren't we all ooc when drunk?

* * *

Chapter 5

Cersei was leaning against a pillar with a glass of wine in her hands, jaw clenched stiff, her eyes still shooting daggers and all her posture screamed "annoyed".

"It seems like you had quite the rumble in there, little dove," Cersei said through clenched teeth. The fall had been very convincing, but she knew better. She and Sansa had received the same upbringing when it came to lady-like behavior, and a true lady needed more than few glasses of wine to loose her balance like that. Especially in front of the King.

"Yes, my lady, it seems the wine has gone to my head and limbs," Sansa answered, but did a little curtsy nonetheless. Tyrion hiccuped. Cersei shot him a glare.

"You should be careful not to drink too much, little dove, my little brother might get his claws in you if you don't keep your balance and fall at _his_ feet. Wouldn't want a lecherous little monster like him coming too close, would you?"

Sansa and Tyrion were facing a huge problem. They could both feel that all the wine they had so quickly drunk after she spoke to Lord Tywin was getting to them. In Tyrion's mind, that meant keeping Sansa from passing out dead drunk and get her to their bed before that happened. In Sansa's mind, it meant keeping Tyrion from saying something that could get him killed and get him to their bed before that happened.

"I've had worse monsters than him touch me, my lady," Sansa said. Her mind went completely blank. She shouldn't have said that. She should _not_ have said that. Where had this come from?

Tyrion snorted.

"I'm the least of them. At least I've kept my hands to myself after our wedding, not all over maids and wenches, unlike _some_ drunken husbands," he said. It was enough to take Cersei's mind off what Sansa had just said, and she looked ready to lash out at her little brother. Sansa spoke before that happened.

"Tyrion! That is no way to speak to your lady sister! My Lady, please excuse him, I'm afraid I didn't keep the wine away from him as much as I intended," Sansa said, trying to appear more sober than she felt.

"Yes, I noticed you seemed to do a good job of it for some time. I also noticed that you seemed to like your wine much better than usually. Tyrion is clearly rubbing off on you." Cersei tilted her head back. "Tyrion, when did you let other people control you in such a way? It's unlike you to let a young girl control your drinking."

"Well, it seems that all my family does is making decisions for me and deciding everything for me, so I figured, why not let the newest member of the Lannister family join in? I don't have to do anything myself!" he declared. Sansa was doing her best to keep her attention away from the carpet, which her foggy mind found very interesting, especially the pattern, it seemed you could trace it from there, and over here, and then it turned there and... and keep focused on the conversation in front of her.

"My Lady, I think that the best place for him now would be in bed. Please, do excuse us now," she said and dragged her husband away. Cersei wasn't quite done with them, though.

"Ah, yes. Go to your marriage bed. Go there, and sleep as far away from that little monster as you can," she said and raised her glass mockingly. Sansa felt a deep urge to say something back, but some part of her clouded mind knew that getting Tyrion into bed was more important. And it was safer. She couldn't really think straight, though, but she desperately wanted to sit down and rest for few moments. But getting away from everyone was a top priority!

"We should have stayed," Tyrion remarked. "We should have stayed and we should have given my big sister a piece of our minds. We should have. Come, come, lets go back and berate that bloody woman and then-"

"No, Tyrion, we're going back to our _home_, climb into bed and then we're going to fall asleep, safe and sound and snoring." She was in such a hurry to get away from Cersei that she didn't notice she was practically dragging Tyrion behind her until he tugged forcefully at her hand.

"It's time for you to slow down, wife! I can't run like this, my feet cramp quite enough as it is on a normal day!" he said and let go of her hand. Sansa turned around, but kept on walking backwards, which she found extremely funny. Everything seemed funny and silly. Too much wine in too little time. Not good, not good, not good…

"First time you're drunk, and still you walk with grace, make a bloody curtsy without falling and then walk backwards. You're clearly not drunk enough!" he remarked when he noticed. Sansa giggled.

"I think I learned to curtsy before I could walk," she said with a laugh. "But your feet, why do they cramp?" she asked curiously. Tyrion opened his mouth to answer, but before any words could come out Sansa had tripped over her own feet and fell backwards on the hard stone floor. After few seconds she started to laugh.

"Is this what your sister was warning me about? Are you going to sink your claws into me now?" she said between laughs when Tyrion was by her side. "It didn't even hurt! Shouldn't it hurt to fall on the floor like this?"

"Trust me, it will hurt tomorrow," he said and sat beside her. "So you fell for real this time? That should teach you to trick the King." A wave of giggles escaped her lips for few moments and she tried to nod, but was shaking too much from laughter to give a proper answer. At last she composed herself.

"Yes, this was a real fall, straight at your feet. Oh, about your feet. They cramp?" she said in a voice that did not suggest she was lying drunk on the floor, but rather that they were having a pleasant conversation about the weather.

"Yes, the world is made for bigger men than me. All this climbing up and down stairs, walking monstrous distances all days… trust me, it doesn't make my feet feel well. At some point, when you can bear the sight of me naked, I'm going to ask you to rub them and massage. Even sooner, I could be wearing clothes!"

"You want me to rub your feet?" Sansa asked in a high pitched voice.

"Massage them. My calves. Not yet, just at some point."

"Well, only if you will massage my head and stroke my hair during my moonblood. And if I can't sleep. It's very calming."

"I shall gladly accept those terms, my dear." He was seriously thinking of lying beside her, until he noticed her eyes were starting to flutter close.

"Sansa, you're not falling asleep here, are you?"

"I'm just tired. I'll be up in a minute," she mumbled and closed her eyes. She was extremely tired. All she wanted to do was close her eyes for a minute or two, and then she'd be fine...

A sudden panic gripped Tyrion, he'd not watch his own wife pass out in the middle of the hallway!

"No, come on!" He grabbed her hand and tried to pull her in a sitting position. She was completely limp for few seconds, until she started to laugh and shake again.

"You're silly," she said, still not sitting up but resting on her elbows while laughing.

"And you are drunk, for the first time in your life. Come on now, otherwise I'll make you massage my calves every day, starting tomorrow! Up, up, dear wife, before someone sees you here. It would be awful if someone saw the ever polite and courteous Sansa Stark, wait, Lannister, lying drunk on the floor, wouldn't it?" That seemed to have some effect on her, at least she managed to rise to her feet. Her wobbly feet. He didn't envy her, having to keep balance on those long legs.

"Now then, we have a mission. Get into our bed without any more incidents!" he declared and waddled quickly onwards, holding Sansa's hand and making sure she stayed vertical.

"Yes, my lord, and what a mission it is…" she trailed off with a huge grin on her face. Then she pulled his arm until he stopped. "No, don't walk so fast, I get dizzy!"

"This is the first time I've been asked to slow down. Usually I have to run after people. It's a nice change, I must admit." He resumed his usual waddle, still holding his wife's hand, who was swaying a bit more to the sides than could be considered normal. Tyrion shook his head, but couldn't help smiling. He'd never let her hear the end of this when they woke up tomorrow. His smile dropped. _If_ she'd still have this newfound courage tomorrow morning.

"What is it? You grew so serious all of sudden, my dear lord husband Tyrion my lord," he heard Sansa ask. Yes, she had definietly been drinking too much after talking to Lord Tywin.

"Tomorrow…" he trailed off. How should he put this? "Tomorrow…"

"And tomorrow," Sansa echoed, waving her free hand around.

"Don't interrupt me, I'm trying to think out loud. When we wake up tomorrow, will you promise me not to retreat into the icicle that you tend to be?" It was honestly the nicest way he could think of to say it.

"Icicle? I'm not an icicle. I'm just not a very open person. Your family has made sure of that," she said and poked his shoulder.

"Please don't bring my family into this," he muttered. "But you know what I mean, don't you? You don't laugh with me, you don't tease me or chide me, or do anything. I swear, if you say "if it will please my lord husband" one more time, I'll seriously consider having you whipped."

Sansa had the most devious of smiles playing on her lips.

"If it will please my lord husband to have me whipped," she answered. Tyrion stopped dead in his tracks, still holding Sansa's hand, but not sure how he should respond to that, so he just looked warily at her and continued walking.

"I'll most likely scare you off if I make any comment on that whipping," he muttered after few moments. "But you didn't give me an answer. Will we still be friends tomorrow?"

"It's an entirely prossiple possect. Poor... wait... possible prospect, yes." Sansa laughed again, heartily.

"See, that laugh, I'll miss it terribly. Please don't stop it."

"Tyrion dear, I think that I could laugh all night. Why is everything funny?"

"Wine makes everything funny at a certain point. But it's alright, there is... Sansa, where are you going?" She had pulled her hand free from his and ran back the way they had come, only to stop when she had gone two steps through the next doorway. He waddled after her as fast as he could, but slowed down when he saw her curtsy to her right, turn to her left, and do another curtsy. Then she ran back to him, managing an amazingly straight line, and grabbed his hand.

"I forgot to curtsy to the guards at that door. It was terribly impolite of me," she giggled.

"Sansa, you have the makings of a bloody drunkard, you know that?" Tyrion wasn't sure if he should be happy or angry at that prospect.

"And I shall learn from the very best!" she said, fell to her knees, embraced him and kissed his forehead. "The perverted Imp himself, I'm sure you can teach me much about drinking and being drunk." Everything she said came with a laugh and a smile. A drunken laugh and smile, true, but he liked it nevertheless. Tyrion hiccuped before he could answer.

"See, you're drunk, drunker than me, (he hiccuped again) but you're handling it much more gracefully than I am," he said. "I just take the form of a lecherous little Imp, while you become all smiles, laughter and silly things. There is _nothing_ I can teach you that you cannot learn yourself from experience!" He wasn't even sure Sansa had heard him, she seemed so intent on staring into his eyes.

"Is your eye black..." She leaned closer to him, "or is the pupil just really, really big?"

"I honestly can't remember at the moment. We should find out tomorrow. Come now, I can smell the Kitchen Keep, our mission is all but finished." But she didn't let go of her embrace.

"Now I really wish you were taller so you could carry me there, Tyrion, because I think I'm too tired now to go any further," she said in her most sincere voice. Sincere and slurred drunken voice.

"Sansa, I _always_ wish I was taller, you don't have to join me in that wish. It doesn't matter if-"

"Oh, Gods, I shouldn't have said that! It's just like I did with Cersei, I should NOT have said that! What's wrong with me? I'm not supposed to say such things to you, I am _so sorry_, Tyrion, please forgive me!" Sansa was gripping his arms with a horrified look on her face. "I didn't mean to make fun of you Tyrion, I am so very sorry, please, I didn't..."

"Sansa!"

"... it's the wine, I can't think straight, and words just fall out of my mouth like a waterfall of stupid sentences, and I have no control over it, and..."

Tyrion was usually quite good at ignoring the Bronn-like voice in his head that encouraged him to do dirty things. He was awful at it after finishing dozen wine glasses. It was therefore not a really hard decision to put his hands around Sansa's head and pull her in a kiss in hopes of making her shut up.

It worked.

Sansa was still gripping his arms, she didn't try to push him away, but neither did she pull him closer. Tyrion moved his hands to her shoulders, backed a little bit away and waited for the blow. The horrified look had left her face, leaving a confused one instead. She blinked several times at him.

"Did you just kiss me to make me stop talking?" she finally asked. He let out a long breath.

"Yes, Sansa. It seems like it worked, doesn't it?" His hands were still on her shoulders and she was no longer gripping his arms.

"You shouldn't kiss people to make them shut up, you should kiss them because you want to."

"Well, maybe I wanted to kiss you, and used this as a pretense?"

"It's a really awful marriage, isn't it, if the husband needs a pretense to kiss his wife?" Sansa looked extremely sad when she said this. So sad that Tyrion was afraid she'd start crying at any moment.

"Now, if you're quite finished apologizing for something you don't need to be sorry about, shall we continue our mission?" He really couldn't handle a crying Sansa at the moment.

"Yes, Tyrion. Please, lead the way, my lord." Sansa placed one hand on the wall and the other on Tyrion's shoulder while she stood up again and tried to regain her balance. He started humming _the Bear and the Maiden Fair_ while finishing the last few steps to their apartments, which Sansa joined in on with a quiet voice, as if she was whispering the lyrics to herself.

"Here we are, at last!" He pushed open the door to their apartments. Sansa let go of his hand and allowed herself to fall, face first, onto their bed.

"I've NEVER been so happy to see this bed. You know, in this moment, it's the best bed in the world. Gods, I'm so tired. And dizzy, did I mention dizzy? It's like my mind is clouded and foggy and the only things I can focus on are the stupid things and the silly things. Which is ridiculous, but it's a nice change though. I'm still deciding if I like it," she mumbled into the mattress. Tyrion sat on the floor and pulled his boots off. His wife was probably mere moments from passing out.

"Yes, dear." He started to undress himself, while Sansa lay on their bed in all her clothes. "Sansa, you are still in your clothes, you haven't even taken your shoes off. You're not going to bed like that."

She kicked her shoes off and pushed them off the bed. Tyrion sighed. Was he so difficult when he got drunk? It looked like they would be taking turns at being the drunken one in this marriage.

"Come on, Sansa. Get out of that dress, and then you can sleep; safe, sound and snoring, as you put it." He tugged at her skirt. "I will undress you if you don't do it yourself, you know." That made her at least turn around so she was laying on her back, still giggling like a maniac.

"Well, I didn't allow you to do it at our wonderful wedding and bedding ceremony, so I prolly... propply... prooo... prooobebblaaah..." She raised herself so she was resting on her elbows. "How do I say this word?"

"Probably?"

"Yes! I probbly owe you one undressing!"

"I... I don't think it works like that." Tyrion found he was extremely nervous about the situation that seemed to be unfolding. Fuck, yes, he wanted that girl. He wouldn't have minded if they were slightly tipsy, but so drunk that neither of them could walk a straight line? No. That was not going to happen. Not tonight. He hiccuped.

"Dear Sansa, if you think that I'm capable of undressing you, then you have greater faith in my abilities when drunk than I anticipated. I managed to get my own boots off, I'm not sure I'll be able to do much else just yet."

Sansa gave out a loud, exaggerated sigh and fumbled with her hands to untie the dress. It took a long time, but she managed to untie and unclasp everything that held it together, and somehow pull it off her head. Tyrion crawled into bed.

"I think this was a true victory for you. Do you want me to find your…" he searched his mind for the word, "night-thing to sleep in, or are you just going to sleep in your smallclothes?"

"I'm happy the way I am," Sansa mumbled and tried to find the edge of the covers with her eyes still closed. Tyrion smiled and shook his head.

"Here, you beautiful drunkard." He pushed the covers down and Sansa crawled under them, already half asleep. He pulled the covers back up and snuggled into his pillow. He'd not tempt his luck by trying to sleep too close to her.

Sansa wasn't completely passed out just yet, though.

"Do you want me to rub your feet now?" she asked sniggering.

"No, I don't trust you with my feet at the moment. Doubtless you'd tickle me to death."

"Are you ticklish?" Sansa asked with great interest in her voice.

"That's none of your business. Now go to sleep."

"Good night, my dearest, smallest, loveliest and cleverest husband," she muttered with closed eyes.

"Good night, my beautiful, long-legged, innocent, drunkard wife."

He was rewarded with one of her giggles.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Sansa felt groggy. That was the best way to describe it. She hadn't even opened her eyes yet, but she just knew that this groggy feeling wouldn't leave her just yet. After lying there fore some time and listening to Tyrion snore softly she realized she was not about to fall asleep again and opened her eyes. Tyrion lay sprawled on the bed, his limbs spread in all directions, but completely under the covers. She didn't know if he was always so well covered out of respect to her, or because he had trouble keeping himself warm during the nights.

She groaned slightly as she sat up, and put her hand to the back of her head. She didn't have a headache, but there was intense pain there and on her shoulders. What the hell had she been doing after the feast? She remembered faking her fall when Joffrey snatched her away to dance, but after that it was rather blurry. There had been Cersei just outside the hall, yes. After her... what had happened after they met Cersei? Yes, the mission to get to their bed. Ah, wait. Yes. Yes, she had been walking backwards for some stupid reason (she wasn't even sure that there had been a reason for it), and tripped, this time for real. And yes, Tyrion had told her it would hurt the day after.

"Turns out you were right," she muttered and rubbed her neck and the back of her head with one hand. A nice and calming bath felt like a terribly good idea at that moment. As quietly as she could, she crawled out of bed.

That bath was without doubt the best she had ever experienced. She relaxed while her maids rubbed and massaged her head, and enjoyed having a clean body. There was a tiny bump on the back of her head, which Sansa knew would trouble her for the whole day, but as the sleep and tiredness was washed off her, the pain and ache subdued as well. She nibbled on some of food that had been brought for her (she loved eating and bathing at the same time, but rarely allowed herself such luxury) and began to think clearly again, and without meaning to, she started to recall last night.

Her cheeks flushed red the very instant some vague memory of her telling Tyrion off for kissing her just to make her shut up surfaced in her mind. What had she been _thinking_? She had been idiotic, impolite, ridiculous and bad-mannered. And stupid, terribly, awfully _stupid_. And the worst part? She had trouble remembering the whole journey to their rooms, who knew what else she had said.

She groaned inside her head. Who knew? Well, most likely her _husband,_ who still slept soundly in their bed, and when he woke up, he'd never let her hear the end of it, he'd tease her over it and chuckle and...

And he'd expect her to do the same. He'd want her to remain the same as she was last night, giggling and killing off everyone in their minds for silly reasons. As Sansa dried herself off, she found she wouldn't be able to do that. She felt nothing but shame about her behavior for last night, and she had no wish to repeat it, ever again. She had no wish to see Tyrion this morning to remind her of it.

"Just do something quick and simple, I don't want to disturb my husband and want to be out of our chambers before I wake him up," she instructed her handmaidens as they sat her down to braid her hair. They complied quickly and Sansa managed to dress just as quickly and simply and be out of the rooms with Tyrion still snoring. She breathed a sigh of relief when outside the doors. But she knew her troubles wouldn't be over, for somewhere in the Red Keep was a King that had been slighted when she "twisted" her ankle before dancing with him. She'd have to avoid Tyrion Lannister and Joffrey Baratheon for as long as possible. She was tired and her mind was too confused. She'd be most likely to say something she shouldn't if she met Joffrey. Where would they look for her? Where was she _supposed_ to go when hiding? The Godswood would be the first place to look, and she desperately wanted to find solace in it, but that wouldn't do. Neither would the gardens work for her. There was no one she could visit, news of that would travel fast. She couldn't hide on the battlements either, that would just be plain stupid. Something clicked in her mind when she started to go through every place she had full access to in the Red Keep, a place no one would think to look for her in, but if she was found, she could make up an entirely plausible reason for her being there. She turned to her handmaiden, the one that was supposed to remain by her side that day.

"Shae, I need you to fetch me something light to eat and some wine as well," Sansa whispered to the dark-haired woman by her side so nearby guards wouldn't hear her.

"But, you just ate, my lady," she answered.

"Yes, but I shall need something for the rest of the day, because I will be playing a game."

"A game, my lady?" the dark-haired woman asked.

"Yes, hide and seek. I will be the one hiding and my husband and the King will be seeking. And I know just the place to hide in, but it's such a good place that I might be there all day. But we will have to do our best to let no one see us on our way to my hiding place, and make sure no one sees the food. Come now, we have to be quick!"

* * *

Tyrion didn't wake up until the sun was high in the sky, exhausted and with the slightest tinge of a hangover threatening to overtake him at any moment. He wouldn't allow it, he decided, he'd be too busy making fun of his wife all day, he'd make no time for a bloody hangover. Thinking of that red-haired girl made him look around for her, but there was no sign of her anywhere.

"Sansa?" he called out, but there was no answer. He waddled around their apartments, and the only proof he found that she'd been there this morning was a slightly damp floor around the bath. He furrowed his brow. She had woken up, taken a bath, dressed, broken her fast and made herself ready for the day, all without waking him up. Was it an act of kindness on her part, to allow him some sleep, or something else? He didn't know how her mind worked after a night of drinking, but he was eager to find out.

"Pod!" His squire came running to his side, ever eager to please. "Help me dress and find me something to eat. Then find my wife and tell me where she is."

As Tyrion ate he mulled over the events of the night before. It had certainly gone better than he anticipated, on every account. Sansa had been wonderful. At some point, wonderfully drunk, yes, but it was a side of her he wouldn't have wanted to miss for all the gold in Casterly Rock. He started to grin and chuckle when remembering some of her antics; her giggles, her long and swaying feet that somehow she kept her balance on, and her carefree recklessness. The wine had let loose something inside her that had been kept hidden from everyone, including herself. And he had been the only one to witness it. He wondered how much of the night she actually remembered, and hoped that he'd be allowed the honor of filling in some gaps.

He had finished eating and the dishes had been cleared away, but there was still no sign of Pod with news of his lady wife. He started pacing around, but stopped quickly. There was no reason to tire his legs so early in the day, he wasn't quite sure Sansa would oblige him by actually rubbing them. Before he could find something to do, Pod came back, panting and breathing heavily.

"I... she wasn't... my lord, I don't... no one has..." he was so out of breath he had trouble speaking.

"Pod, take a few breaths so you can get it all out in a coherent sentence," Tyrion said and settled himself into a chair. Pod nodded and filled his lungs several times.

"My lord, I couldn't find her, her handmaidens haven't seen her since the morning, when she bathed and ate, but neither has her handmaiden Shae been seen," he said in a rapid voice, though with a surprising confidence, even though the news he bore were dire. Tyrion jumped from his seat immediately.

"Keep searching until you find either of them. I'm going to get Bronn, and then find out where my nephew is."

Tyrion had been partly right about the hangover when he woke up. Except he wasn't too busy making fun of his wife, he was too busy locating her to have any time for being hungover. He was starting to fear that there'd be lots of walking this day.

"Bronn! Don't make me regret paying your salary, I need you now!" he yelled when he saw the silhouette of the sell-sword. Bronn turned lazily around and raised an eyebrow.

"Need help to fuck yer wife? It's all the fuckin' wenches speak of, A'hm getting rather bored of the subject, truth be told," he answered.

"_Yes_, Bronn, I need your help to fuck my wife, how did you know? But first we have to locate the damned girl, and I need your help for that as well!" sighed Tyrion.

"Lost 'er, have ya?" He grinned.

"She's probably hiding in a corner somewhere, being appalled at her own drunken behavior last night."

"Drunken? Ya got yer wife _drunk_? At last! So ah take it she ain't no longer an innocent little flower anymore?"

"Trust me, she'd have passed out on me if I'd tried. But I need to find her, and more importantly, I need to find my bloody nephew first to make sure he hasn't... found her before me."

He didn't have to search long before he found the King, who had apparently been training with a crossbow the whole morning, so his alibi seemed intact. After that they went to the gardens, and asked almost every lady that passed them if the young wife of Tyrion Lannister had been seen, but nobody had even glimpsed her. Then they searched in the Godswood, with Bronn walking around every tree and searching every nook there was. At that point Tyrion began to worry. His wife wasn't supposed to be so hard to find. No guards had seen her leave the Red Keep, she hadn't ordered her handmaidens to bring her lunch anywhere, she was not in her usual places... and it seemed Shae was with her. Would it be too much to send out a search party? He groaned and punched the next stone wall, not hard enough to hurt his hand, but enough to send a slight jolt up his arm.

When he was truly beginning to contemplate gathering more men to search for her, Pod came running to him with Shae by his side. Her mouth was a thin line and her shoulders stiff.

"M-my lord. I found her. Well, not _her,_ not your wife, b-but your wife's handmaiden. Shae. Her handmaiden." He waved his hand at the woman.

"Yes, I distinctly recall that my wife has red hair, not dark, thank you." He turned to Shae. "Where is my wife?"

She held her head even higher than usually.

"I don't know, my lord," she answered and moved her jaw slightly, as in an effort not to spit at him.

"Shae, please, don't..." he shook his head. This needed a different approach. "Do you know where she is? Is she safe? Or did Joffrey find her and lock her somewhere?"

"She's safe. She's just hiding, my lord."

"From whom?"

"The King. And you."

Whatever hopes Tyrion had when he woke up were mostly shattered at this revelation.

"Oh, _fuck_..." he muttered at the ground. He looked back at Shae, who still stood haughty. "But why are _you_ so angry at me? What the hell have I done this time? I didn't touch her last night, I was a fucking gentleman the whole time, stop being so possessive of the girl!" He was growing angrier with every moment.

"I haven't decided on a reason just yet. My lord," Shae answered. Tyrion groaned again, with Bronn openly laughing behind him at the situation unfolding in front of him.

"Why won't you tell me where she is? I need to talk to her," Tyrion grumbled after few moments.

"She doesn't need to talk to you."

"How long is she planning on hiding?"

"All day."

"She'll starve."

"She brought food with her."

Tyrion wasn't sure if he should curse or congratulate Sansa's cleverness at this point. He clenched his fists and opened them again several times, trying to think the situation through.

"_Why_ is she hiding from me?"

At that question Shae glanced at her feet.

"I'm not quite sure. She's rather... embarrassed after last night, I think. From what I gathered, her behavior wasn't ladylike, and she feels ashamed for it." She shrugged. "It's a stupid reason, but I think that's it."

Tyrion nodded thoughtfully. Of course it had been too much to hope she'd just laugh and blame her antics on the wine. He shuffled his feet and tried to look as humble as possible.

"Would you show me to her later today? Sometime before dinner. Then she can hide most of the day, and continue to be there without interruption from me if she wants to after I've talked to her. Please?"

Shae gave the barest of nods to him.

* * *

Sansa was quite pleased with her choice of hiding place. It wasn't frequented these days, and those few who came by had their own business to attend to, and she could still hide herself between the many shelves of books. The library at the Red Keep was a huge maze of bookshelves, on several floors, with nooks and crannies to hide in. She and Shae had found a nice corner that looked like no one had bothered to visit for several months, with the floor, chair and shelves covered in a thick layer of dust. Shae hid the small bag with the food under the chair, walked around with Sansa to see the closest surroundings, asked her _why_ she was hiding (to which Sansa couldn't give a definite answer), and then left her alone. Sansa claimed that she would be safe there, as long as no one would see Shae leave the library, and she'd tell no one of her location.

She'd scurried behind shelves each time she heard footsteps, but no one ever came even close to her little corner. It was dark, the next window was too far away to let the light travel there, and the books didn't seem to be of any interest to those that came there. Most of them were not even written in the Common Tongue, the only other language she could discern was High Valyrian (not that she understood it, but she knew what it looked like) but the rest remained a mystery to her. Those few books that were written in the Common Tongue seemed to center around something that could best be described as magic, by potions, words, sacrifices or other actions. But there were many strange words in between (that didn't even look like they belonged to the Common Tongue) that held no meaning to Sansa, so she grew quickly bored with the books.

Out of fear of meeting someone, she didn't want to venture far from her little corner, and cursed herself for not bringing any needlework to keep herself occupied. But most of the library was eerie quiet, so she tip-toed around several shelves and she found herself a history book concerning Highgarden, that seemed good enough to keep her interested for some time. But it was not fear of boredom that made her seek something to read, but rather fear of being alone with and having to confront her thoughts. She hadn't finished puzzling together the night before, and wasn't sure if she truly wanted to. Her face went red every time she thought about her stupid fall backwards and the stupid conversations they'd had. And something shook inside her when she remembered how she avoided dancing with Joffrey. Yes, her fall had been convincing, but would _he_ believe it? Not likely. It probably didn't even matter.

They only memory that didn't make Sansa want to crawl and hide under her bed (which was quite unlike herself, usually she tried to confront each problem on its own and be done with it) was the memory of Lord Tywin, and his assurance of doing all in his power to keep his unborn grandchild safe from King Joffrey, from the moment he heard of her pregnancy.

She'd have to work on the pregnancy, though. She sighed and hid her face in her hands. Nope, it seemed there was no memory that didn't make her feel stupid or ashamed. But this was a small victory, nonetheless. At least Lord Tywin didn't let his hatred of the Starks consume him so much that he didn't see the advantage of her giving birth to a healthy, living Lannister-child. She yawned and stretched her arms. It seemed like this place was meant to make her drowsy, the air was thick and heavy with the smell of dust and books, the light was dim, she could hear sounds in the distance, but not enough to make anything out. She closed her eyes for few moments.

"Sansa?"

She snapped her head around and almost fell off her chair in surprise. Those few moments had obviously been longer than she thought, the shadows from the shelves were angled completely different now than when she closed her eyes. She guessed it was getting quite late. And who... her breathing quickened, but she calmed down as soon as she realized that this was in fact _not_ King Joffrey, but only her husband, who stood at the end of the next bookshelf. If she was used to cursing, this would have been a wonderful moment for it. She took several deep breaths to regain her composure, before she answered him.

"My Lord?"

"You have no idea how much trouble I went through to find you. Your handmaiden assured me that you were somewhere safe, and after _much_ pleading and begging, she finally agreed to tell me where you were, but only later in the day, so you could remain hidden. And she also insisted on waiting nearby while I was with you." He took few steps closer. "Why were you hiding, Sansa?"

She stood up, straight and with her hands neatly folded in front of her.

"I needed some time for myself, my lord."

"So it was not fear of the King that kept you here?"

"I have nothing to fear from the King, my lord, I have done nothing wrong."

"And it was not some kind of embarrassment or shame that you thought you'd feel when seeing me?"

"No, my lord."

"Then why did you not tell me where you would be, so I would not worry?"

"I did not want to wake you up, my lord."

"Then why did you not give a message to Pod or one of your handmaidens, so they could tell me where you were? And exactly _why_ did Shae not want to tell me of your location if you were not hiding?"

"As I said, I needed some time for myself. I did not think it would disturb you, I am sorry for any inconvenience it might have caused you, my lord."

Tyrion had the sudden urge to throw a bucket of cold water over his wife, just to get a reaction out of her, but was sure that it would only end with "That was rather wet water, my lord" and decided against it. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Please stop saying "my lord" at the end of every sentence, I know I'm a bloody lord. I also have a name. You seemed to remember it last night." He saw a slight flush spread over Sansa's cheeks and neck after this sentence.

"Yes, Tyrion."

He nodded. He _had_ to get through to her again.

"How did you like last night? I think we did absolutely wonderfully! I haven't seen Cersei this livid for quite some time, I enjoyed it to no ends. We should do this again. What do you think?" he said with more happiness in his voice than he actually felt.

"Last night was... interesting. But I doubt that it would be a good idea to repeat it, my l- Tyrion. I have no wish to enrage my own family," Sansa answered in her soft voice. Tyrion breathed through his nose, walked those few steps that were left between them, grabbed her hands in his and lifted his head to look at her.

"But you _enjoyed_ it! You were laughing, giggling, making jokes with me! You loved every moment of it! Why, by every known god, _why_ did you have to go back to your bloody cage where you're all courteous and polite and... and like fucking block of ice!" He was getting agitated. He had seen a glimpse of Sansa last night that he'd never seen before, had liked very much, and would give almost everything to see again. It was a side of Sansa that he was sure she had buried deep inside her months ago.

"Too much wine often makes young women giggle and behave rather mindlessly. I do not think I shall do that again, it is not befit a lady, least of all a lady of House Lannister," she answered, her hands completely limp in his.

"Too much wine often makes young women break their bloody shell and become _themselves_!" he practically yelled at her. He heard noise behind them, and Shae walked quickly into view.

"Is there a problem, my lord?" she asked through gritted teeth. Then she looked to Sansa, "I am sorry, my lady, for telling him where you were, but you have been hidden all day."

"It's alright, Shae," Sansa whispered. Tyrion let go of her hands and backed few steps away, not sure anymore what he should do. In the end he settled for something neutral.

"Will you be having dinner with me?"

"If it please my lord husband."

Tyrion's eyes widened slightly. Wait, wait... this had been covered the night before... now she'd do something!

"Do you remember what I threatened to do if you said this sentence again?" he asked, trying to hide his grin.

"No, Tyrion, I do not recall the larger part of last night." She showed no sign of being overly embarrassed or getting redder, so he guessed she was telling the truth. "What did you threaten to do?"

"I don't..." He wanted to bang his head several times against the next table, just to see if she'd show any manner of reaction. It was as if someone had punched all air out of him. She wouldn't do it, she wouldn't tease him back, she wouldn't smile with him. "It doesn't matter. I'd never do anything to you anyway." He turned around, shoulders slumped and his feet dragging over the floor. "I'll eat my dinner alone. I'll also break my fast alone tomorrow, and have my dinner alone. Maybe the day after as well."

* * *

AN: My first draft of this chapter was much funnier and happier. Then a little guy appeared on my shoulder, called George, and he made it all go downhill, said we couldn't make things too easy on them. Also, I have no idea of how to write Bronn's accent, and didn't find any description of the library. If you have any information regarding it, please share it with me!

Every review, favorite and follower is appreciated so much, you guys are really encouraging me to continue this. Truth to be told, I hadn't planned longer than Chapter 5, and thought that it wouldn't matter, because I was sure this wouldn't get much attention anyway. I was wrong. So, now I'm actively starting to research certain things to make this story better, and trying to think through when this is happening and what's happening outside of King's Landing. Any ideas you've got and would like to share in some way and perhaps even allow me to incorporate, would be appreciated!

But there will be longer between updates from now on, due to the usual excuses of work (which I've actually been putting slightly off to write and read fanfiction... but I spend a lot of my work in front of a computer, so no one noticed...) and I might have to start read for school at some point, before the semester starts... *ahem*


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

True to his words, Tyrion dined alone the next day, and the day after that. He also made a point of being long gone from their chambers when Sansa awoke and not returning until late into the night, when she was fast asleep. He was also gone early the day after that. Sansa sat in their bed, hugging her knees and staring into the air. If anything, her marriage was worse than before. And it was her fault. Tyrion had tried. He had truly _tried_ to make her happy, at least bring a smile to her face, even if it was by making her drunk and forget all her worries. She had been happy that night, she had acted in a manner so completely different from her own that she barely believed it herself. But she couldn't act like that again. It wasn't... it wasn't proper! Her parents had raised her better than that. Her parents, her septa, her maester, her whole family and all of Winterfell, everyone had raised her to be a _lady_. When you were a lady there was no room for silly antics and drunken giggles.

"Are you not going to eat anything, my lady?"

Shae had been a constant companion at her side for the last days, almost physically forcing Sansa to eat in the mornings, when she was at her worst.

"Yes, I am," she whispered back, still lost in thought. It was _her_ fault for making everything worse. After her reactions the day after the feast it seemed like Tyrion had just given up on her. She couldn't blame him. But did it matter? He was a Lannister. He would have hurt her in the end, just like the rest of them had. He would gain her trust and confidence, then throw it all back into her face. They all did.

But he had been _kind_ to her, long before they were married. Long before he would have gained anything by kind words and offers of help. No, that wasn't entirely true, he would most likely have gained her trust in the long run. He should have learned by now that he'd never gain her trust. A shudder went through Sansa. That was exactly what had happened, her husband had decided that there was no point in trying anymore. He'd given up on her, and the worst part was that she didn't even understand why she cared!

She looked at Shae, preparing a table by the bed filled with food. She couldn't confide her troubles to Margaery, after her marriage to Tyrion the future queen had not been seeking her company. Could she talk to Shae? Dark-haired, beautiful, impolite and caring Shae, who was some strange kind of protective sister or niece in Sansa's eyes.

"Do you think he'll start talking to me again?" she whispered.

"Not until you've spoken to him first," Shae answered. It was exactly the answer Sansa thought it would be, but she needed to hear it out loud. Shae didn't try to pamper her the way her other handmaidens did, she told her the harsh truth when needed.

"I wouldn't know where to start," she muttered into her knees.

"Why should you care? You don't want him, we can't change that. Your breakfast is ready."

"But I do care."

"Why?"

Sansa pondered her answer. Why _did_ she care?

"This might be an awfully long and dull marriage if we never speak again," she whispered after few moments. Something hardened in Shae's eyes as Sansa started to eat.

"I should find him." Sansa took a deep breath. "I should talk to him. I'm not going to let it go on like this, it's ridiculous, we are both too old for this nonsense. I'll start by telling him what his father told me. That should be a good beginning." She nodded to herself.

"What did his father tell you?"

"I don't... I can't tell you, Shae. It has to remain between me and Lord Tywin, and hopefully, soon, Tyrion."

"Very well. I'm just your handmaiden, I don't have to know such things." She shrugged carelessly, but Sansa could see that she was clearly annoyed by this. There were certain things not even Shae could know of. She trusted her, but only to a certain extent.

"Will you help me choose the right gown for today? If I'm going to try and make things better I should wear Lannister red or gold at the very least. Or would he like it better if I just wore the Stark colors?" Sansa chewed her food thoughtfully. This would need to be perfect. She couldn't afford ruining this, not again. She'd not be as polite to him as she was to every other lord. Tyrion Lannister was her _husband_, and her closest family, she was allowed to tease him and reprimand. Her thoughts strayed to her own parents. Her mother had often chided her father in a quiet voice. Sometimes angrily, sometimes with a small laughter. Sansa put down her fork. Her mother had married her father out of... duty. She didn't love him, she didn't even know him when their marriage took place. She had been meant to marry his older brother, and after his death she'd simply been shipped off to the next one in line. Her home changed from Riverrun to the cold, harsh north where she knew no one. And somehow she had made it all work out for her.

Suddenly Sansa desperately wished to meet her mother again, to ask her how she had done it. How do you find beauty in a man you don't know? How can you bear his children? How do you learn to care for him? She did not doubt it for one second that their parents had loved each other while in Winterfell, but it hadn't always been so. At some point, Catelyn Tully had been going through the same thoughts as Sansa Stark did, wondering how to truly be a part of her new family. How to think of herself with another last name.

"My lady?" Shae crouched slightly to meet Sansa's gaze, and it looked like she had been trying to contact her for some time.

"Yes?" Sansa shook those thoughts off herself.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I know what to wear, I think I own a dress in the Tully colors." Sansa had always been more of a Tully than Stark, both in looks and behavior. _Family, duty, honor._ Those were the words she lived by, not the ominous reminder of winter.

It was close enough to the Tully colors, Sansa thought when she regarded herself in the mirror. It made her feel better, and more confident. The blue looked just about right, but the red was more akin to the bright Lannister-red, rather than the brownish red of the Tullys, so she hoped no one would run after her screaming "traitor" for her choice of dress.

Full of confidence and determination she walked to the rooms she knew Tyrion spent his time in, trying to figure out numbers and more numbers. Shae was by her side, there had been no more speaking of getting her a personal guard after that eventful night, so her handmaiden was the closest she had to one. Two guards stood at the door. Sansa bade them to announce Lord Tyrion that his wife wished to speak with him. One of them entered, and came back few moments later, all the while Sansa stood still and straight, staring at the door.

"My lady, Lord Tyrion says he's rather busy at the moment, and would receive you at some other time," the guard announced. Sansa's spirits fell. Would he never talk to her again? She opened her mouth, ready to order the guard to take her inside, no matter what her husband wanted. But she couldn't. It wouldn't be right, not proper. She could talk to Tyrion when he came back after finishing his work, she'd force herself to stay awake until he came.

"Maybe he really _is_ busy, my lady. There is a big wedding feast coming, it must be quite a trouble to find all the money for it," Shae whispered in her ear. Sansa nodded absently.

"Yes, perhaps. I will find out tonight. Could you run back for me and ask the guards to tell my husband I shall be waiting for him tonight?" Sansa wasn't sure if that would make him hurry up or stay there even longer, but at least he'd know it didn't matter how late he came, she'd be up and ready to talk to him. Truly talk, this time.

Shae scurried off and Sansa rounded a corner, only to fall on her face. For a split second she thought she had tripped over a loose stone in the floor, until she felt a searing pain in her left foot and saw who stood in front of her.

King Joffrey, and by his side Ser Meryn. To her left was was Ser Boros, who had clearly tripped her with his sword. Joffrey did not look happy.

* * *

Tyrion hadn't been this annoyed and angry for a long time. And the worst part? He didn't know if he was angry at himself or his wife. The first day he just couldn't bring himself to hear her soft and gentle voice being all polite and courteous. The day after that he was simply stubborn and felt he couldn't come crawling back to her, trying to make jokes and get her to talk again, not yet. Bronn was nice enough to point out that he could still fuck his wife even if they didn't talk. And that day he was extremely busy as well, or at least that what's he told himself when he tiptoed into their chambers and climbed quietly into their bed. On the third day? He had all but forgotten how to speak to her.

It was therefore a pleasant surprise when one of his guards announced that his wife was standing at his doors and wanting to speak with him. But he still couldn't bring himself to see her just yet. Bronn, who was lounging about his workplace because he had nothing else to do, snickered when Tyrion told the guard he was too busy to receive her.

"Ya makin' 'er _beg_ now, are ya?" he asked when the doors closed.

"I just want her to realize that if this bloody marriage is supposed to work, _she_ has to do something as well!" Tyrion muttered back, which only made Bronn snicker even more. "If she even _wants_ to make it work," he added.

A guard entered the room again, preparing to speak when Shae strode in as well and pushed him aside.

"Your _wife_ wanted me to tell you that she'll be waiting for you to come tonight, so you two can talk," she said through gritted teeth. Before Tyrion could answer she started to speak again. "And you bloody well won't keep yourself locked up here all night, the poor girl feels awful about how she acted. You're not making it any better."

"Yes, thank you, I will come earlier than usually tonight, don't worry. Now, could you please leave me be? I'm rather busy." Tyrion tapped his fingers on the thick ledger in front of him. Shae nodded stiffly and went back.

"Guard! Make sure that this girl does _not_ interrupt me here again, is that clear? I don't care if you have to drag her away by her hair," Tyrion called before the door closed again.

* * *

Joffrey sneered at Sansa.

"Get up," he snarled. She took a deep breath and raised herself to her feet.

"Your Grace," she greeted him.

"How's your ankle? Are you feeling better after your fall?" Joffrey started to circle around her.

"Yes, Your Grace, thank you for your concern. It would seem that it's completely healed now." She kept her gaze lowered, hands folded in front of her and her voice soft. Joffrey was right behind her now.

"That's nice." She didn't see when he motioned Ser Boros, but she did feel the flat of the blade hitting her calves forcefully, making her tumble down again. Joffrey walked back in front of her.

"You know, I've been thinking, _aunt_," he crouched slightly to get his face closer to her, "that since you can't dance with your own king, that you shouldn't be allowed to dance at all. Besides, it's not like my uncle is going to dance with you, is it? You two were sitting there, the whole feast, and I thought I was doing you a favor, _saving_ you from him like that." His face was mere inches from her own now. "But instead, you fell."

"Your Grace, that night I had been drinking quite a lot of wine. I could not keep my balance. I fell more than once on the way to my apartments."

"Did you now? Oh, then it's..." His gaze snapped up. Sansa didn't dare to look as well, but knew who it was the moment Joffrey almost barked at Ser Meryn. "Get that girl! Get her before she runs back to my uncle!" Then he grabbed the hair at the back of Sansa's head. "Your _husband_ will not have you back in one piece," he snarled into her face.

* * *

Shae had not been gone long when Tyrion heard commotion outside his door. He could hear her voice yell "Tyrion", but just sighed, especially when he heard the next word, "Sansa". He'd be back tonight, why couldn't they leave him alone until then? He heard the clank of armor, probably both of the guards trying to push her away, with Shae still yelling something.

"Does she always make so much noise?" Bronn asked and raised an eyebrow.

"It's been getting more common with every day. I don't think she should..."

"THE KING! KING JOFFREY! SANSA!" Her voice carried loud and clear through the thick door. Tyrion's eyes widened, he bolted from his chair, his short legs carrying him as fast as possible to the door with Bronn right beside him, who opened the door hastily. The scene that greeted them was a disheveled Shae clawing, biting and kicking a Kingsguard that had both his arms around her waist, doing his best to keep her away. She continued yelling when she saw him.

"Tyrion! Down the hall, run you bloody idiot," she bit the hand of Ser Meryn who tried to put it over her mouth, "the King has her!"

Tyrion turned to Bronn.

"You are going to run there and safe my fucking wife, do you hear me? You two as well!" He pointed to the guards, who hadn't known what to do at the sight of screaming Shae. Bronn and the guards started running, brandishing their swords, with Tyrion coming after them, as fast as his legs allowed him. At that moment he truly wished he was as tall as Jaime so he could be the first to arrive at the scene. Suddenly something dark-haired ran past him and grabbed his arm. Shae pulled him forward, forcing him to run even faster by her side.

"I got a good kick at his balls, he won't be coming right away," she said as they ran forward. They rounded a corner, almost clashing into the rumble. Bronn was standing in front of Sansa with his sword pointed at Ser Boros, who was standing in front of Tyrion's nephew, who was lying sprawled on his back on the other side of the hallway. The guards seemed unsure of whom they should side with. Ser Meryn came panting behind them, also unsure of what he should do when he saw the scene. Tyrion filled his lungs with air.

"King Joffrey!" He took few steps closer to him, with Ser Boros eyeing him but still keeping his sword in the direction of Bronn. "Did you just attack your _own_ family? That is my _wife_ lying there, and if I recall then I am still your mother's brother!" All he wanted to do was attack the boy, beat him, kick him, bang his bloody, stupid head against the next wall and then throw him against the Iron Throne in hopes of it piercing him. But he couldn't. And it took all of his strength to remind himself of that.

"It's her own fault!" Joffrey stood up and spat at Tyrion's feet. "You're unable to tame and break the bloody barbarian she truly is, someone has to do it for you!"

"You have done quite enough in that direction, _nephew._ Now I suggest you bring your dogs to your heel and take them with you when you go away." He took another step. "You will not touch Sansa again," he whispered.

"Oh, won't I? And are you going to stop me? I hope you have good luck with that." The King turned on his heel and walked away, with his two Kingsguards following close behind. Tyrion considered how much damage he would be able to make before they'd stop him, but quickly realized that there was someone else that needed his attention at the moment. Shae had wrapped her arms around Sansa, who was still on the floor.

"Sansa?" He took few cautious steps towards her. She was looking at the floor and her hair, which had clearly been pulled in every possible direction, was hiding her face. He closed the distance between them and put one hand on her shoulder. With the other the put two fingers under her jaw and lifted her head up. He choked slightly on his breath. The left side of her face was quickly swelling up. She bled from the nose and her lips, there was a bulge around her eye that seemed like it would only get bigger and her chin was all red. Tyrion felt terribly helpless at that moment.

"Sansa, I... I am so sorry. I promised you protection. I made an oath, that you were to be under my protection, and yet..." He shook his head. He would never be able to protect her, not himself, not truly. He'd always need bigger men than him to draw a sword if needed. Silent tears were running down Sansa's face.

"My lord," Shae said in a low voice, and motioned to Sansa's legs. Part of her skirt was ruined, and he could see her calves having a crimson hue to them, few cuts and blood seeping into the fabric. He swallowed a big lump in his throat.

"Bronn," he said hoarsely, "please be so kind as to carry my wife to our rooms. Shae, could you fetch a maester to tend to my wife's wounds?"

"We won't a need a maester. All her handmaidens have ready healing salves and bandages for cases such as these. We've dealt with worse, my lord," Shae answered in such a low voice that Tyrion wasn't quite sure if he heard her correctly. He watched, with more than little jealousy, as Bronn put his hands under Sansa's knees and arms and lifted her.

"Ye weight next to nuthin', m'lady!" he exclaimed. At that moment it registered in Tyrion that his wife hadn't uttered a single sound since they came.

"Sansa, are you alright? Do you need a maester, or is this something that your handmaidens can handle?" he asked while they walked briskly. Well, he was practically running, but Bronn and Shae were walking briskly. Sansa made no sign of hearing him.

"My lady, you must talk to us." Shae had a worried look on her face. They saw her move her lips, but heard no sound.

"Ah think, and it could be wrong, she said she's fine, m'lord," Bronn offered. Tyrion could feel more jealousy bubble inside him when he noticed how close Sansa's lips were to Bronn's face.

"Let's hope so." When they neared their rooms Shae ran ahead to get the bandages and salves, and ready warm water and clean linens. When they entered, with another handmaiden readying the bed for them to lay Sansa down on, Tyrion got the sudden feeling that this was certainly _not_ the first time her handmaidens had done this. Everything was laid out with some strange precision that he didn't like at all. Bronn put her on the bed, with more gentleness than Tyrion thought the sellsword capable of.

"Ah'll leave ya to it then," he muttered and closed the door gently behind him. Shae and the other handmaiden (Ella? Ellie? Belle? Kelly? he couldn't remember) went straight to their mistress, undressing her and dressing her again in a clean, simple night shift. Some part of Tyrion made comment on how absurd that seemed, it was still the middle of the day. They started cleaning her wounds, which were thankfully not that many or severe. Shae started speaking to him while they were examining her calves.

"This ointment should be put on her calves every day until they're properly healed. We can bandage them now so she won't bleed and the wounds won't become infected, but it's better if they can breathe. See this jar? This goes on her face to sooth the swelling, it can be used as much as you like. This one is only used if the wounds are deep, we won't need it know, but just so you know of it."

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Tyrion asked.

"Because you're going to take care of your wife," she turned to Sansa, who had yet to utter one word, "and _you_ are not going to push that little lion away when he does, you hear me?" With that both of the handmaidens walked out of the room, leaving Tyrion standing with a jar of some green stuff in his hand and Sansa lying on the bed, both looking equally confused.

* * *

AN: I think I got a little depressed writing last chapter and this one. Seriously, if you dislike reading about them not being together, how do you think I felt _writing_ it and deciding it should happen? This is more than my happy-go-lucky mind can handle for those two! But hey, there can't be a Sansa/Tyrion fic _without_ Joff attacking her, can it?

And uh, did someone somewhere post a link to my story on the 25th? The views from the US went over everything I've ever seen!


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Tyrion weighed the jar in his hands and darted his eyes to Sansa. What the _fuck_ was Shae playing at? Was she deliberately trying to tempt him? See how far he'd go in caring for his wife until he'd finally manage to sleep with her? There was no way she was simply doing this out of sheer kindness for them. Somewhere was a hidden motive, he just didn't see it right now. Perhaps because at the moment all he could see was his wife, bleeding and bruised in their bed, and his mind showed him only Joffrey's face and how nice it would look on a spike. Or how he'd look on fire. After being chopped to pieces. With an axe. By him.

He inhaled deeply through his nose. His heart was still beating twice as fast as it should be.

"Do you want..." he waved the jar in front of him, "do you think you need...?" What was he supposed to say?_ Is your face still hurting after my nephew beat you, do you want me to put some salve on it and kiss it to make it better?_

"I can put it on myself, you don't have to bother yourself over this, my lord. I must be keeping you from your work," came the soft, whispering voice of Sansa. Instead of answering her, Tyrion climbed into the bed, sat beside her and opened the jar. As he did, he started speaking.

"We haven't talked in two days. We've barely seen each other in two days," he dipped a finger in the jar, "and you came to me today, I don't know why, but at least you wanted to talk." He reached tentatively for her face, like he was touching a scared animal. "I turned you away, resulting in my bloody nephew getting the chance to beat you up." As carefully as he was able to he applied the shining salve to the purple bruise around her left eye. "Saying that I'm "sorry" would be an understatement, Sansa."

"He would have found the chance anyway," she said, closing her eyes so he could have better access to dabbing the ointment around. She didn't see the grimace Tyrion made at that comment. He covered the rest of Sansa's left cheek and chin. The side of her face was almost glistening from the ointment. She still hadn't opened her eyes again.

"I should have killed the bloody boy." It wasn't even a proper whisper, the sentence was barely audible from Tyrion's lips. Sansa opened her eyes and watched him screw the lid back on the jar. "I should have. I will, at some point."

"Do not say such things, the walls have ears, my lord," she whispered back. He crawled away and put the jar on a table with a loud thud.

"Then let the damned walls hear that I'm angry at the King for beating my wife! Let them hear I will _not_ be responsible for my actions if I witness it again!" He hadn't let go of the jar and was gripping it with all his strength, staring at some unseen spot on the wall and hoping whatever little spider that hid behind it would take this information back to Cersei.

"It's alright. Tyrion."

He groaned. He wanted to yell at Sansa, tell her that it _wasn't_ alright, that she _shouldn't_ put up with this, she should be angry, mad, _furious_ at the King, cursing him and all his kin. Instead he climbed back into the bed and made his way to her side, facing her.

"I will never understand you fully, Sansa, but I will make an effort to try. Now, why did you come today?"

"To talk."

"About?"

"Nothing. Just talk."

"_Just_ talk?"

"I figured that this might be an awfully long and dull marriage if we never speak again."

Tyrion shook his head and chuckled.

"That much is true. Have you given any thought as to how we should take the next step to make this only the _second _smallest revenge in Westeros? You broached the subject yourself at the feast, right before my nephew interrupted us." He looked hopefully at Sansa. If he could only make the tiniest chink in her armor of courtesy, it would be all the victory he needed today.

"No, I can't say I have. But... if we feel up to it, we might plan something for the..." she trailed off and raised a hand to her swollen cheek, "wedding feast." She looked at Tyrion with sadness in her eyes. "This will not be healed by then."

"It's alright, you are not supposed to outshine the bride." The compliment washed off Sansa like water off a duck's back, he wasn't even sure she'd heard it. She knitted her eyebrows together and held her hand to her cheek, as if she hoped it would somehow make it heal faster. There was a dull but painful throb in it that she knew wouldn't leave her just yet, it would be aching for a day or two.

"Could... could you hand me my small mirror, my lord? It's on the..."

Tyrion abruptly cut her off with a stern look. "No, Sansa, I'll have none of that. You shouldn't fuss over it, I'm the only one that sees you." His gaze softened slightly. "Sansa, it's alright, you could look plainer than a septa wearing that bruise and still look gorgeous when sitting next to me. Come now, do you have any ideas for the feast? Personally, I think we should add something to our little act, but nothing too drastic and certainly nothing that will upset my nephew." He tapped a finger on his knee. "You and father should dance. It would infuriate Cersei, but Joffrey wouldn't notice it. And you two seemed to be getting quite well along the other day. Which reminds me..." he raised a hand and pointed at Sansa, "you _promised_ to tell me what the pair of you were speaking of!"

"I... I do not recall _promising_ to tell you, my lord. As I remember it, I said I might tell you at some point, when the time was right," Sansa said, deep in thought and trying to remember exactly what had transpired.

"I am quite sure you promised to tell me the day after. Yes, I remember it quite clearly, you know. You said "not now, I promise I shall tell you tomorrow, my dear husband", and I thought you would keep true to your words." Tyrion shook his head disapprovingly.

"With all due respect, my lord, when I came back from your father, you had finished half a flagon of wine." She looked completely serious while speaking, so Tyrion had trouble trying to figure out if she was teasing him back or dead serious. "Are you positive your memory serves you right?"

Now it was his turn to be serious.

"Are you questioning my ability to remember?" he asked with the most indignant look he could muster. She looked at him. Was that some tiny glint, some spark of brightness in her eyes?

"Yes, my lord, I do question your ability to remember after consuming what I estimate to be roughly three flagons of wine in one evening. Furthermore, I know that my own memory to be untainted until the moment we left the feast," she answered, still not showing any signs of mocking him. Tyrion took his time in answering her, reclining back so he was resting on his elbows.

"... until the moment we left the feast, you say? Is it a bit blurry after that? For I remember that journey_ very_ well, my lady. I might have been imagining things, even outright lying to you, when I said you promised to tell me about your conversation, but this little trip back here..." he grinned as wide as he could, "that is not something I will forget anytime soon. Oh, the things you did, the things you said." He watched, rather pleased, when Sansa started to blush.

"Did I say anything of amusement to you on our way?"

"_Everything_ you said was of amusement to me, Sansa. And everything you did, or, well, tried to do."

If possible, she blushed even harder. Her face was all red (the parts that weren't blue and purple), and the color was creeping down her neck and chest.

"Will you not share any of my antics with me, my lord?"

He flicked an invisible dust off the mattress with one finger.

"Nope." He raised himself back up from the elbows and sat up straight. "Not unless you were planning on telling me of your conversations with my dear father."

Sansa nodded and looked at her hands, her fingers entwining themselves. She would have to tell him eventually. And hadn't that been the plan when she went to him earlier today? She just hadn't figured out _how_ to tell him, how to put it into words. She took a deep breath. She wasn't Cersei's little dove anymore. She couldn't be. She needed a new mask to don.

"Your father promised, from the moment he'd hear of my pregnancy, to protect our child from the hands of King Joffrey," she whispered, looking at Tyrion's chest. "He promised to do his best to keep the King away from me, and when the child would be born, find us another household, perhaps even outside of King's Landing, where we would be safer from him." She glanced at Tyrion. His jaw was hanging slack and his eyes wide, and he stared unblinking her. After few, awkward moments of him staring, he shook his head and blinked rapidly.

"What did you... _how_ did you manage that, Sansa? What did you say to him?" he asked in awe.

"I don't know, my lord. I think he..." she swallowed, and tried not to notice Tyrion's stare, "he realized it would be in his best interest to keep a Lannister and Stark child alive. It would... it would be of great benefit to the realm." She tried to look anywhere but Tyrion's mismatched, staring eyes.

"Sansa." He inched closer to her. "I know you do not listen to my compliments, but believe me when I say you are a most _amazing_ young woman." Tyrion raised his hand, and for one brief moment Sansa thought he'd grab her hand, but instead he ran it through his hair.

"...utterly astounding..." he muttered under his breath. "_What_ did you say to that man? How could you convince him in such a short amount of time? What kind of heathen, northern _witchcraft_ did you wield on him?"

"There was no witchcraft, my lord, only reasons and good sense."

"I watched you the whole time, you know. He _liked_ what you had to say, especially your last words, whatever they were, and there is no reason to..." Sansa could feel all color drain from her face as Tyrion spoke, and he seemed to notice it as well. Yes, her last words, of course Lord Tywin had liked them.

"My lady? What is it? What..." his face lost its awe and happiness, and was replaced with suspicion, "what did you say to him before you came back to me?"

To gain some extra time, Sansa started to smooth every wrinkle she saw in her nightshift.

"Nothing of consequence, my lord."

"My name is Tyrion, and please look at me while you tell me what you said to him." His voice was icy and somber. But when Sansa forced herself to look at him all she could see in his eyes was suspicion and... sadness?

"Tyrion."

"You have my full and undivided attention."

All Sansa wanted was to draw her knees up to her face and embrace them while she thought about her future. But she couldn't. It would be a sign of weakness, and it would be something the little dove would do.

"Your father will not... should the child be..." She sighed. "If the child is born a dwarf, he will not... see it live."

"And did you agree to that?"

"Tyrion, you know as well as I that if I had made any sign of putting myself against that decision, he would have taken back all assurances he made to me of keeping the child from King Joffrey's clutches."

The silent force that came with that sentence surprised Sansa as much as Tyrion. He raised his hand, and this time leaned over and took one of her hands in his.

"I know," he whispered, and let go of her hand after tiny squeeze. They both looked away, but after few moments he started to grin. "But I think we don't have to worry about such things just yet, at the pace we're going, winter will have come and gone before you give birth." It was meant as a joke, but the harsh truth hiding behind it pierced Sansa. Finishing the consummation was all up to her now.

"Many things can happen in one winter," was all she could say, in an empty voice. Tyrion nodded. Something was nagging him and he couldn't put his finger on it. His father had agreed to make sure his grandchild wouldn't suffer harm from his _other, _viscous grandchild. Harm... protection from harm...

"I can't protect you," he whispered after few moments. It was the truth. He'd proved as much today, he'd never be able to raise a hand against anyone threatening his wife. The only protection he could offer were layers of words and threats to outsiders (and promises to go through with those threats), but none of that meant anything to his nephew. He'd always be unstoppable.

"I'm sorry about the cloak," he heard Sansa say, but he didn't understand the context. She looked at her hands. "At our wedding. That I didn't bow so you could put your cloak of protection over me. My anger should not have been directed at you that day, I know you were as little at fault as I was for this marriage. Perhaps my disobedience that day was a foreboding that if I didn't want your cloak of protection, the Gods will not allow me to have your protection at all."

"It's alright, Sansa. At least you didn't make me jump to kiss you." He sighed and opted for a lighter subject.

"We should learn to dance." Sansa's head snapped up. Did she hear him right?

"Pardon?"

"We. The pair of us. There are few dances where you never change partners, we should learn to make our way through one or two of them, just to see Cersei's reaction." He had the same, happy smile on his lips as he did some five days ago, when bringing up their "revenge" the first time. Sansa tried to imagine them dancing. It would be absolutely absurd, but was it possible?

"Do you know how to dance, my lord?" she asked. She'd never seen him dance. He didn't want to at their wedding, and she'd never broached the subject since then.

"Barely, I learned until I was one and ten, but at that point my father deemed it useless and a waste of time. But to make my sweet sister rage, I am willing to do almost anything!" He glanced at her calves, which were bandaged. "If you will feel up to it. What did that bloody bull do to your legs?"

"It's alright, my feet will be healed before the wedding. It's mostly just swelling from bruises, the bleeding was minimum, the wounds are neither deep nor many. I will have black and blue legs for a week, but they will not hurt me." The tone of her voice implied she was explaining how to sow a dress. She attempted a small smile for Tyrion, but it ended as a grimace.

"Does it hurt when you smile?" Tyrion asked.

"If you require me to smile, I will do so gladly."

"Did I ask you to smile?"

"No, my lord."

"What did I ask you?"

"If it hurt when I smiled."

"And does it?"

"Only a little, my lord."

"That's a _yes_, Sansa. How long will it be until you stop hiding everything you say to me under a layer of politeness?"

"Quite a while, I'm afraid." She didn't try to smile with those words, but he did see something lighten up in her eyes. He went back to reclining on his elbows. Sansa moved as well so she was sitting with the less damaged foot under her, and pulled the other one close to her to examine the growing bruise that extended from under the bandages.

Tyrion muttered under his breath. "Making my wife unable to _smile_, if that is not reason enough to kill someone..." He shook his head. Sansa pressed both her hands around her calve.

"Will you now tell me what happened after our meeting with your sister?"

"Ah, yes, we did make a pact on exchanging information. Lets see, you literally dragged me away from her, I started complaining about my cramping legs, you walked backwards and fell. Did the back of your head hurt the day after?"

"Onl- yes, my lord. It did hurt the day after," Sansa answered, biting her tongue before letting go her usual answer.

"I thought it might. We did come to some kind of agreement that you'd massage my calves after long days and I'd massage your head during your moon-blood." He grinned when Sansa started to blush. It took so little to make that happen.

"Did we now?" she asked in a small voice, shifting slightly. Tyrion chuckled at her.

"It's alright, I won't take you up on that agreement until the next time I get you drunk," he said. That didn't seem to pacify Sansa, who squirmed under his gaze.

"What happened after I fell?"

"You were on the verge of passing out it seemed, but I don't remember how I convinced you to stand. Then we, somehow, started moving again, with you running back to curtsy for some guards at one point, the only explanation you gave me was that it would have been rude not to, then you said something... something... what did you say? It was something you thought was terribly insulting to me, and you were absolutely terrified, I thought you'd never shut up about it." He stopped to shake his head and grin at Sansa. "Do you remember how I finally got you to shut up?"

He got all the proof he needed when Sansa looked away in embarrassment.

"Yes, my lord, you kissed me."

"Yes, indeed, and then you lectured me how I shouldn't kiss you just to make you shut up. I haven't enjoyed myself this much for a long time, you know." For a moment he considered telling her how she thought she owed him one undressing before passing out, but thought better of it. She seemed ready to sink in the ground from shame and embarrassment as it was. "But, to finish our adventures that night, we somehow, I don't know how and I don't recollect much of the rest of the journey, we managed to get into our chambers and most importantly, the bed. Trust me, it's awful and terribly annoying to pass out on the floor _next_ to the bed."

"I see. It's good you enjoyed my behavior that night, my lord." She glanced at him. "I mean, Tyrion." She considered walking away with her face hidden in her hands and hide in a corner for the rest of they day, she felt so embarrassed.

"Sansa, you didn't do anything that you should be ashamed of. Most of the time, all you did was giggle and laugh at everything you saw and heard, and the only ones to witness that was me and some guards. For me, it was a wonderful experience to see you like that. Yes, you are a highborn lady, but even you are allowed to let go once in a while." He furrowed his brow and sat up straight again. "_Especially you._ Every now and then you should be allowed the freedom of not worrying about anything but finding the next drink and get back to bed."

Sansa swallowed and gave a small nod. "Thank you, Tyrion."

"Are you hungry? I think it's time for lunch," he said and jumped out of the bed.

Sansa had not known where this conversation had been going when he sat with her in their bed, and some part of her was trying to tell her it had gone much better than expected. As he told her of their tour back to their chambers, some slivers of memories appeared in her mind to confirm what he said. It hadn't been awful, mostly just silly. She rubbed her temples. Well, the one on her left side, the other she barely touched. Tyrion had managed to keep her attention away from her headache, but as soon as he stopped talking and she was left with her thoughts, and all she could focus on was the ever growing headache and pain in her head. She had also been growing slightly more dizzy with every moment.

"How are you feeling?"

Sansa's head snapped up in surprise. How could he be so _quiet_ when moving around?

"I am well, my lord, you needn't worry."

"Yes, you are the very _image_ of healthiness, my lady. And no, I don't _need_ to worry, but I will do so nonetheless." Sansa could see he wanted to say something more, but didn't dare to ask. He emptied the table beside the bed. "We'll be brought lunch in few minutes. Would you like to rest after that? If you're feeling tired, then I will not keep up."

"No, thank you, I know it'll be impossible for me to sleep at this moment."

"Because you are in pain?"

"Not much, my lord." She watched as Tyrion slumped into a chair beside the bed, looking completely defeated and worn out. "Are you alright, my lord?"

"Why do you think I worry about you?" he asked after few moments of silence. "And I mean this as a question, truly, _why_ do you think I worry?"

"Because it's your duty as a husband," Sansa answered and looked him in the eye. Tyrion shook his head.

"Your mother was a Tully. What comes before duty?"

Sansa forced herself not to look away when she answered.

"Family."

"It's said you can choose your friends, but not your family. That's very true in our case, we did not choose this marriage, we did not choose to become family. But we still have a choice. We can choose not to avoid each other when one of us does something embarrassing. We can choose to refer to each other by our given names, to drink together, laugh together and spend time together." He slid from his chair, took the few steps to the bed and held his hand out to Sansa. Very carefully, she put her own slender hand in his stumpy one.

"Sansa, I am not asking you for your love, or the confidence of your deepest and darkest secrets." He tightened his grip on her hand.

"I am asking you to _choose_ to be my friend."

* * *

AN: Good news guys, I've roughly outlined the next 6 chapters and think I have a fair idea of how I want this all to go eventually. To make things easier on my already overloaded brain I've decided to ignore some parts of the canonical plotline, and rearrange the timeline to certain extent. (I'm still open to and appreciate all suggestions, though).


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

For the last months in King's Landing Sansa had forced herself to think through every word before letting it escape her lips. It was one of the reasons she was still alive. She still had to think every word and sentence through, but when with Tyrion she didn't do it to survive. She did it because every time she uttered the words "my lord" at the end of her sentences his mood dropped slightly. The same happened when she tried to cover her true meaning with politeness and courteousness, tried to brush away any kind word from him or took his teasing too seriously.

It was extremely difficult and trying for her, but it was a challenge she'd not step down from.

"If you let my hand go at the same moment I turn to right, step back, to the right and then... yes, it might work."

Tyrion's idea of them learning to dance together had been gone through with. It was awkward, silly, difficult... and going far better than either of them had anticipated. Sansa had always been an enthusiastic dancer, and when in Winterfell she'd usually been much better than the boys her age, almost physically forcing herself not to lead them when they were doing something wrong. Tyrion remarked that even when she danced with Tommen, who was only slightly taller than his uncle, she'd looked graceful. Having a small dancer partner that was just as enthusiastic as herself turned out to be almost easier than dancing with some of the boys in Winterfell.

"This will do wonderfully. Now, let's go back to the part we gave up on earlier, I think I've figured out what we should do." What Tyrion lacked in height and gracefulness, he made up for by sheer passion in hopes pissing off his sister.

After Tyrion's... proposal? It was the best word Sansa could find. After his proposal of friendship, which she'd carefully agreed to, while trying to tell him in as few words as possible that it would not be _easy_ for her to make a friend out of a Lannister, he'd almost forced her to take some milk of the poppy with their lunch and then lie down to sleep. Her head had been aching, and she finally relented. What surprised her the most was the fact that he stayed with her the whole day, sometimes sitting close with a book in his lap, sometimes she heard him working in the solar or conversing with Bronn and Shae. She didn't voice her surprise to Tyrion, knowing he'd tell her something along the lines that she was _family_, he wanted to make sure she was alright, he was afraid to leave her alone... this would be a very confusing friendship between them.

During their dinner he'd tried to make her laugh by reminding her of the Lord of Mustaches, but it had been too painful to smile that much. Tyrion cursed Joffrey again for that.

"Sansa, could you do your steps beside me, I'm still not sure how many steps I have to take to get this right..."

"You have to start and end on your left one, I think it's seven steps... yes, and then you bring your hand... exactly!"

Sansa had never felt at this much ease around her husband. Dancing was something she knew, they didn't have to broach any delicate subjects, all they had to do was hold hands and move. The only time they shared an uncomfortable moment was earlier when Tyrion moved to put his arm around her waist, but it ended almost gripping her backside, which was of course a more natural height for his arm. They'd quickly brushed that moment off and continued their dancing.

"I feel like a little boy again. I want to show off my newfound skill to uncle Kevan tonight!"

"Shouldn't the dancing be a surprise for the feast?"

Tyrion had wanted to invite his uncle, Ser Kevan, for dinner that evening. It had taken some coaxing on Tyrion's part, Sansa was not keen on letting people see the left side of her face all black and blue, but he assured her Kevan was a kind and gentle man and would not spread any stories of her bruises. She knew little of the man, other than he was Lord Tywin's little brother. He also seemed to be one of the few members of the Lannister family that Tyrion liked, and had not treated him with contempt.

"Ah, I guess so."

She had only left her rooms once in the last two days, this very morning, when she was finally able to open her eye after it had swelled up. She did not want to be seen like that, but she had needed to visit the Godswoods, and meet Ser Dontos. He'd given her a most beautiful silver hairnet, with black amethysts, which she now kept safe in a pocket hidden in her skirts. She was supposed to wear it at Joffrey's wedding feast. He said it would take her home.

_Home._

She barely knew the meaning of the word anymore. It was foreign to her, unknown, a long lost memory. It was...

"Sansa, correct me if I'm wrong, but I am quite sure we were both supposed to end over here." Tyrion's voice floated over to her. He was standing few feet away from her, looking confused and unsure of which direction he should go.

"Yes, we were, I forgot myself. Pardon me. My mind was elsewhere."

"Perhaps it's time for a break. When I'm starting to know the steps better than you, it's time to have some rest."

He waddled to the closest chair and sat down. It was starting to take its toll on Tyrion to spend such a large part of the day walking and moving around, but he didn't want it any other way. Sansa stretched her arms out and turned in a circle. She was graceful in her movements, always knew where the next step should land.

"Do you think we will have the hang of this before the wedding?" she asked while turning. They were trying to learn three different dances.

"I don't doubt it for one moment. How do you..." he cocked his head to one side, "how do you women turn like that without getting dizzy? I've never understood it."

"It's quite easy once you get the hang of it. Come, I'll show you." Yes, her confidence had definitely boosted with the dancing. She tried to explain how to focus on one spot, turn the body but not the head, do it slowly at first, take sure and calculated footsteps...

After several tries it ended with Sansa turning as fast as possible (she did admit in her head that she was showing off) and Tyrion getting lightheaded and wobbly, and while trying to make the room stop spinning around him, they collided together and fell to floor, both of them giggling and chuckling. Tyrion was sprawled on over Sansa's legs, who was lying on her stomach on the floor.

"Sansa, if you decide to annul our marriage after this wonderful tumble, I'll not hold it against you," he said, tapping with his fingers on the floor. Sansa raised herself up on her elbows and looked at him.

"I believe marriages have been annulled for less than this, Lord Tyrion. But as I am ever so gracious, I shall give you another chance before going to the septon. Perhaps we should not try this again," she answered, giving him a small smile.

"Agreed. You can turn for both of us if needed." He pushed himself up, brushed his hands over his tunic and held out his hand for Sansa. She rolled over and on her back, making a strange scrunching noise at the same time. Before Tyrion could ask what that had been her hands flew to her skirts, and after few moments of fumbling she pulled out a silver net with little black stones in it. Some of the stones were loose and when she held the net between her fingers few of them rolled out and over the floor.

"Oh, no." Sansa could feel her heart racing. She had fallen on the hairnet in her pocket, not hard enough to break anything it seemed, but enough to loosen few stones. This was the key to her home, she _needed_ this hairnet for the wedding, it couldn't be broken. "I... I'd forgotten this was in my pocket. I didn't... oh. Oh, dear. I was going to wear this to the wedding feast, I have a wonderful silver dress to go with it, this was a gift, what have I _done_?" she muttered under her breath.

Tyrion took a few steps closer to her.

"It's alright, Sansa. You are married to a Lannister, you should take advantage of that, I can easily find someone to put the stones back in or replace them." She looked at him with big eyes. When sitting on the ground he was somewhat taller than she, which was a strange position for them.

"Could you? If, if they're replaced, would they look exactly the same? They'd have to look the same. Where did the last four go?" Sansa crawled over the floor, looking for the four stones that had rolled away. Together they found three of them, but the fourth one remained hidden.

"We will have Shae look for the last one. I'll make sure this will be ready and looking exactly the same, well before the wedding, no worries." How could such a little thing upset her like that? He'd never understand women and their bonding to jewelry.

"Thank you, Tyrion." At times she needed almost physical strength not to say "my lord" but it was growing easier to use his name. It didn't feel natural, but it was getting less foreign at her lips. He held out his hand for the hairnet, putting it gently in his pocket after Sansa had very carefully handed it to him. Then he held out his hand again for her and helped her to her feet.

"Before we start breaking _ourselves_, perhaps we should take a proper break this time?" Sansa suggested, which Tyrion accepted eagerly. The royal wedding would take place in only few days, it wouldn't do to have him too tired and her too injured to dance.

* * *

Sansa hadn't known what to expect from Ser Kevan before the evening. She had only seen him several times at court and danced with him at her wedding, where he praised her beauty. She did know that he had four children (she was sure some of them were twins), and one of those children was Lancel, who Tyrion had offered to her on the day they married, if she had wished so. Another of those children had been killed by Lord Karstark, while being an innocent captive by her brother. Her brother, whom she knew Ser Kevan had made many battle plans against. But she also knew that Ser Kevan had less commanding presence than his eldest brother, Lord Tywin, and that Tyrion liked him very much.

But she had not known of all the stories he could share with her of her husband in his younger years, of the subtle way his laughter reminded her of Maester Luwin (neither of them truly _laughed_, it was either a deep and long rumble or a short and happy bellow) or how _genuine_ he seemed to be.

"... and there they stood, Tyrion and Jaime, both grinning like idiots when they realized what happened, and trust me, Genna _loves_ those boys, but at that moment I thought she'd truly murder both of them on the spot!" Ser Kevan was shaking from laughter, Sansa was drying tears from her eyes and Tyrion was red faced, both from laughter and embarrassment.

"Oh, and she still believes you were doing it on purpose," Kevan added, which resulted in Tyrion almost choking on his wine. Sansa gave him a half-hearted pat on the back.

"I should like to meet your aunt Genna sometime, Tyrion."

Instead of answering her, Tyrion turned to Kevan.

"Remember this moment fondly, uncle, somebody _wanted_ to meet your sister. Also, remember this and remind my wife of it when she begs us to safe her from aunt Genna."

"I shall. But I think they'll get along splendidly once Lady Sansa understands how Genna works."

"Then I will fear them both. But enough of that side of the family, how about yours? How's little Janei faring?" Tyrion glanced at Sansa. "Janei is his youngest daughter, barely... how old is she again?"

"Her third name-day is not yet upon her, but it's coming too soon nonetheless. Dorna wrote to me recently, she's started to run and climb over everything. She has the same energy as the twins had combined, the girl never stops. But when she sleeps, she does so with no trouble." He smiled fondly. "Dorna is sure that she'll have curly hair, but a darker blond than most of the Lannisters."

"She sounds adorable," Sansa said. Kevan nodded.

"She is. It's been so long since I saw her. She could only crawl the last time I was at home." Kevan stared off into the distance, lost in some tender memory of his youngest daughter.

"The war is as good as over. You will no doubt be home soon with our dearest Dorna, and then we shall visit you and make sure to teach young and fair Janei all the bad habits we can think of!" Tyrion said and raised his glass to his uncle. "Sansa, you'd absolutely adore Dorna, I've never met a kinder soul in my life. She could almost put your good heart to shame."

"Now, Tyrion, you shouldn't teach young children bad habits, you should allow them to make their own." Sansa pushed her plate away. "If you wish to annoy the family, even though I cannot fathom why you should want to annoy your uncle and his kind wife, then you should give the child a musical instrument."

"A musical instrument?" Tyrion raised an eyebrow. Sansa nodded.

"It was a joke that went too far in some branch of the Tully family few years ago, I heard. Three siblings, each of them had a family and a household. It began when the first girl to be born was given a flute or a harp or some other instrument to learn, a gift from one of the other siblings. Presenting a flute to a very eager three year old girl is perhaps not the best thing to do if you want to have some peace in your household. That family gifted the other with another instrument when they had a girl, and then the third sibling also had a daughter, who also received an instrument. From there the instruments only grew bigger and noisier with each girl, trying to outdo the one they'd received, and trying to make them suffer even more noise than they'd had." Sansa smiled into her cup while explaining. "If they'd had any more girls, they'd have been presented with drums suited for battle, I guess."

Tyrion snorted, but Kevan had a smile on his lips that reminded Sansa very much of Tyrion when he had some wicked thought.

"Well, giving Janei an instrument would put yourself in danger when you give birth to a daughter. I would go straight for the battle drum before you'd have the chance to outdo me," he said, his eyes twinkling with delight. Tyrion and Sansa both blushed slightly, but showed no other sign of discomfort at this jape.

"Perhaps I will allow Tyrion to teach her some bad habits after all," Sansa relented.

"Thank you dear, glad to see you have some faith in my ideas."

"_Faith_ is a very strong word, Tyrion."

Ser Kevan made a rumbling noise and smiled at them. At that moment Shae entered the room and did one of her worse curtsies. Tyrion had seen the sideway glances she gave Sansa that evening, each time she came into the room to serve them food. He had been too tired these last days (all that dancing, he wasn't used to it) to go to her. Perhaps he'd need a word with Varys to send her away over the Narrow sea before she'd murder Sansa out of jealousy. Or him, for enjoying spending time with her.

"Lord Tyrion, Bronn would like one word with you. He promised it would be quick."

"What is it now, can't the man wipe his arse without me helping..." Tyrion muttered and waddled outside of the room, leaving Sansa alone with Kevan. He gave her a kind smile when Tyrion left the room.

"Words cannot begin to describe how glad I am at seeing you get so well along. If I were to judge after the wedding, I thought you would both be skulking in your separate corners for the next few months. To tell you the truth, I think Cersei _hoped_ it would be so," he said.

"We are the demon monkey and the traitor's daughter, we have to make the best of our situation," Sansa answered with half a smile.

"Many things can be said of your father, but in my mind he will first and foremost be a brave and honorable man."

"My father was a traitor to the crown." They were just words now. She didn't even try to make them sound like the truth. Kevan simply nodded.

"I understand." He glanced at the door. "There is one matter concerning Tyrion that I did need to discuss with you. I do not know how sincere you are in "making the best of your situation", so I need to tell you this. Affection from others is to him what water is to a thirsty man. He desperately craves it. My lady, I beg of you, do not hurt him. He has faced enough pain as it is, and I know he will never hurt you." He reached over the table and squeezed her hand. "If he does, you shall come to me, and trust me, he will never escape my wrath. Or Genna's."

However serious Sansa had been a moment before, it all left her at the mention of Genna, and she let out a small chuckle. Tyrion entered again, stopping few steps away from the table.

"I hope I am not interrupting anything important."

"You are, I was just starting to entice your wife, but it will simply have to wait another day. Thank you for a wonderful evening, my lady, until we meet again." Ser Kevan stood up and raised Sansa's hand to his lips. "Take good care of my nephew. Someone has to," he muttered against the back of her hand.

"Thank you, I shall, my lord." _I will be home, I won't have to think about him or anyone else when I'm home._

"Tyrion, you have an order from me, Dorna and Genna to overindulge your wife at any given moment. Good night." With that, Ser Kevan walked briskly out. Sansa gazed at the door he closed behind him.

"I think I might like him," she said, almost to herself, as Pod started to gather the dishes.

"Not all of my family members are monsters. We're just so unlucky that those who are, demand most of the attention. Come to think of it, my father's younger brothers and sister were and are quite nice and normal people. And we will have to visit Dorna at some point, partly because she feels best at her own home. Kevan told me once that she hates traveling."

"I'd like to meet her. Was there any trouble from Bronn?" She didn't really like the sellsword, he was too rough spoken for her liking, and he would certainly never be a knight in her eyes. But he _had_ put himself between her, Joffrey and his Kingsguard few days ago, and that counted for something in her eyes.

"What? From Bronn? No, not at all." Tyrion's eyes shifted around, his feet making unsure steps back and forth. "But I might have to sort something out. I'll be back quite late. Good night." He stopped at the door. "Shae found the last stone. Your hairnet should be ready tomorrow or the day after that."

"Thank you, Tyrion." The wedding would be the day after tomorrow. She'd have the hairnet back, she'd get home.

* * *

Much to Sansa's surprise, Tyrion had not left their apartments when she woke up the day after, but was sitting in a chair in the solar, staring into the empty hearth, his hands gripping the armrest.

"Have you broken your fast yet?" Sansa asked softly when she saw him, unsure if he'd noticed her already. It took him few moments to answer, first turning his head in her direction but his eyes not leaving the hearth right away.

"No." Tyrion finally looked up at her. "My appetite is not at its best. Don't let me ruin it for you, though, go ahead and eat something." He looked back at the hearth, and Sansa deemed it best to let him be.

When she had begun nibbling on an orange she heard him moving, and came to sit in front of her.

"How busy will you be today?" he asked after few moments.

"Not very. I have not planned anything, I thought it would be sensible to rest before tomorrow," Sansa answered, trying not to show how vary she was of the strange mood he seemed to be in.

"Would you like to take a walk with me when you've finished eating?" Tyrion asked, but sensed her hesitation. "Your bruise is as good as healed, but we can visit some less frequented place than the gardens. No one will notice it, Sansa," he said.

"I can wear my hair down. But, yes, I'll take a walk with you."

"The view over Blackwater Bay is beautiful from the battlements. Especially when it's not alight with wildfire." To Sansa it seemed like the words were supposed to be a joke, but he said it in a very solemn tone. She finished eating, noting that he barely touched anything.

"I'll be ready in few moments."

Sansa had gotten used to the warm climate in King's Landing, but with the coming winter she had a much better idea of how to dress, and the eastern wind coming from the Narrow sea was brisk.

"Tyrion, winter is coming..." she stopped abruptly and made a small chuckle, "this wasn't supposed to sound like that." She glanced at him as she stepped from behind the screen, still tying the last piece of the dress together, but he made no reaction at hearing her words.

"I was wondering, because winter is coming, if I could be fitted for new, warmer dresses? The ones I brought with me from Winterfell are far too small."

He nodded absently.

"Yes... sometime, yes..." He finally looked straight at her. "But first we must walk."

Tyrion's silence while walking made Sansa more nervous with each step they took. They weren't exactly _good_ at making small talk, but they were capable of it, that much she knew. But every attempt she made, he answered with curt replies. It was unnerving and unlike Tyrion, and when they'd reached the battlements, Sansa gave up.

"Have I displeased you, my lord?"

"You might have. I'm not sure yet."

"And when will you be sure?"

Instead of answering he took hold of her hand and led her to a place where no guards were near, and motioned for her to sit down. They were on the top of the battlements, with great view over the bay. Sansa could still see few shipwrecks in it.

"I am going to ask you several, perhaps strange, questions. No one else is allowed to hear us, so if a guard comes too close, we will change the subject. You are going to don your armor of courtesy and show as little as possible emotion on your face. Agreed?" Tyrion explained in a low voice, looking more serious than Sansa had ever seen him.

"Yes, my lord," she answered.

Tyrion took a deep breath.

"Were you planning on killing Joffrey at his wedding feast?"

The question was so absurd and bizarre that Sansa wanted to laugh, but kept her face.

"No, my lord."

"Were you planning on killing someone else?"

"No, my lord."

"Where did you get your silver hairnet?"

Sansa hesitated.

"It... it was a gift."

"From whom?"

"A friend."

"Sansa, who gave you the hairnet?" Tyrion was breathing through his nose and Sansa could see him clenching his jaw.

"Why do you need to know, my lord?"

"Do you know what that hairnet is?" he whispered.

"It's a silver hairnet, with black amethysts from Asshai." Sansa could feel goosebumps starting to form on her arms and the hair on the back of her neck was starting to rise.

"And _who_ told you that?"

She didn't answer, but looked instead over the bay.

"_Sansa, look at me._" The urgency and anger in his voice startled Sansa, but she looked into his mismatched eyes. "I am trying to determine exactly what is going on inside your mind, and you're not helping me at the moment. Some of the stones in that hairnet were poisonous. They were meant to go into someones cup, dissolve, and kill that very person. You've already told me that the hairnet was a gift and you meant to wear it to the wedding feast. I am trying to put the pieces together and I need your help."

If Sansa had not been sitting when receiving this information, she'd surely have fallen. The stones... but it couldn't... they were just black amethysts from Asshai, Ser Dontos had told her... they were supposed to take her home...

"I didn't know they were poisonous," she whispered after few moments of silence. "How did you find it out?"

"I didn't, Shae did, when she found the last one. She told me, yesterday, during our dinner with uncle Kevan. It wasn't Bronn who was calling me, it was simply her handing me the last stone with a little note written. She didn't dare to say it out loud, in case someone heard. After I left we examined the rest of the hairnet and found that several of the stones in the middle were not as innocent as they seemed, and could easily be pulled out of their place. Each of them containing deadly poison, that would have dissolved in any liquid."

"I didn't know." Sansa was on the verge of tears. Now it would come, now Tyrion Lannister would do exactly as the rest of his family had done, he'd punish her for something she had no part in, he'd let her rot in a cell...

"I'm not sure which I feared the most, that you'd do this on purpose or that someone was using you. But please, continue. Where does the hairnet come from?"

Sansa weighed her opinions. He'd probably want as much information about this as possible before punishing her. The best course of action was to be done with it, he'd only get angrier if she tried to wring her way out of this. She could try to keep Ser Dontos out of the situation, but her mind was in too much shock to make a proper lie.

"It... in the Godswood. I've been meeting Ser Dontos. He promised he would..." she could feel the short-lived dream slipping away between her fingers with every uttered word, "that he'd... take me home. He gave me the hairnet, he said I was to wear it to Joffrey's wedding feast, he said it would bring me home." She was close to tears now. Tyrion gaped.

"Ser _Dontos_? _Home_? What, to the ruins of Winterfell? Was he going to ship you off to White Harbor, lead you through the north and leave you at the gates of the wreckage that once was Winterfell?"

Sansa shook her head.

"I don't know, he didn't tell me, he just promised me he'd get me home," she whispered in a broken voice. She didn't have a home any longer, did she?

"You Starks are such strange creatures. Either you trust a person completely and without question, or not at all. There's no middle ground, and I know on which side me and Dontos are on in your mind, and it disturbs me greatly. Sansa, you are _not_ as stupid as my sister thinks you to be, but _how_ could you trust a man that spends his days drunken out of his wits and acts as a fool? How could you, for one instant, believe that such a man could bring you home?" Tyrion was doing all he could not raise his voice at his wife and attract unwanted attention. If _anyone_ in the Red Keep were to catch drift of what they spoke of, of what lay on a table in their apartments, then all seven hells would be set loose.

"I just wanted to go home."

He could finally see through her armor. Beneath it was a broken, young girl that had watched the execution of her father and slowly, but surely, lost the rest of her family. There was a young woman there that had been caged, then beaten and abused by her captors, and forced into marriage with a man she did not know. All she wanted was to feel safe again and be around people that cared for her.

"Sansa, you _will_ be home. When all this is over, the war, the cold and cruel winter that's coming, when all this... _trouble_ will be finished, I think my father will only be too happy about seeing me disappear north. We will go to Winterfell, we will rebuild it to its former glory, and you will be home. But you'll not be brought there by a fool and a drunkard."

She closed her eyes and nodded. Deep inside she had known that it was a false hope, Winterfell was no more.

"I know, my lord." She took a deep breath. "Whatever my punishment might be for this treachery, I will deserve it." He would probably tell the King about the hairnet, or the Hand. It wouldn't matter that she hadn't known of it, they'd all think she'd planned this.

"For what crime do you think you deserve punishment?"

"I was conspiring to kill the King at his own wedding feast."

"So you _did_ know about the stones?"

"No, I thought they were normal amethysts."

"Then you were being used. Someone was using you as their pawn. We can't even be sure that these stones were meant for the King, it's just as likely that I was supposed to have one of them in my cup. Or even all my family members, we don't know it for sure."

Sansa wasn't sure what to do with this information. He wasn't going to tell on her?

"Are you not angry with me?" she finally asked. Tyrion shook his head slowly.

"Frankly, I can't blame you for seizing the chance to go home. The more I think about it, we both want the same thing, but we seem to have some trouble acquiring it no matter where we turn."

"And what thing is that?"

He glanced over the bay before answering.

"We just want a warm place to call home. A family to care for, a family that will love us." He looked at his hands, resting in his lap. "But my family hates me, and you have none left."

Now it was Sansa's turn to clasp his hands.

"That leaves us with but one choice, Tyrion."

He looked expectantly at her.

"We will have to make that loving family ourselves." She was still in slight shock after discovering what the amethysts truly were, her heart was beating a bit faster than it should have and she was very conscious of where every guard was standing, but looking at Tyrion's smile at that moment calmed her a little bit. He wasn't going to tell anyone about the hairnet, he would protect that information, and she had no words to tell him how grateful she was for that. Instead she bent down and kissed his small hands.

"Thank you, Tyrion."

He was starting to look very choked up.

"I've given up on trying to understand you, you northern witch," he muttered. Sansa hadn't let go of his hand. He cleared his throat and looked around. "But we're not finished. Poisonous amethysts are not something a man like Ser Dontos would have obtained by himself. Someone must be using him as well, and I intend to find out who it is."

* * *

AN: Too long between chapters? How about one extra long to make up for it? I think I just smelled the beginning of a tiny plot! And gods, this chapter was rewritten thrice, there are certain events that I want to happen, but it doesn't trouble the plot in which order they appear, so I spent way too much time deciding what should happen here...


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

When they finally left the battlements, for Sansa didn't dare to rise immediately due to shaking, Tyrion advised her to stay in their quarters for the rest of the day, he did not want to endanger her any further. Sansa was only too happy to agree to that. Those amethysts... they had murder in them, and _she_ had been supposed to carry that murder with her. She sat down on the sofa in front of the hearth, wrapping her arms around her and pulling her knees to her chest. Now was the time for her to sort her thoughts out.

Firstly, shock. She was being used, by Ser Dontos and probably someone else. Poison had been supposed to don her hair at the feast. She'd have partaken in murder, she didn't know who the victim was supposed to be, but it didn't matter, it would have been murder.

Secondly, fear. Tyrion found out. He could easily have told someone that it was meant for the King and Queen, the whole Lannister family, and she'd have been dead (or worse) in a matter of minutes.

Thirdly, sadness. She wouldn't be going home to Winterfell, she'd stay in King's Landing.

And fourth, gratitude. Tyrion _didn't_ tell on her, he promised to take her home and that they would rebuild Winterfell. He sounded as if he didn't mind it either to be as far away from his father as the realm allowed. If she had been married to Lancel, he probably would have run and told someone.

There was the fifth feeling as well... guilt. She didn't want to acknowledge that one. But she didn't know if it was guilt for telling Tyrion about Ser Dontos, or because Tyrion had sounded so hurt when realizing she had trusted a fool better than her own husband. And she'd just promised Ser Kevan _not_ to hurt him. Her own _Lannister_ husband.

Sansa sighed. The Lannister name was starting to trouble her more than usually. Hearing the names of Kevan and Dorna Lannister didn't make her cringe, it made her smile fondly. Genna Frey, née Lannister, almost made her chuckle. And Tyrion Lannister? She wasn't sure. He was her husband, he wanted her friendship, she wanted... what did she want?

She looked up when she heard Tyrion enter the room and walk over to her. The answer went through her head in one instant. He had been right on the battlements, they did want the same thing, a family to love, and to love them back.

"Are you alright?" he asked in a low voice when he came to her. She nodded vaguely.

"I'm just confused. Would you sit with me?"

But she had been a bit rash when telling him that they would have to make that family themselves. She wasn't quite ready to feel his touch anywhere but on her hands, and her waist or back when dancing. She'd have to get used to it, eventually. He couldn't protect her from Joff, and Tywin wouldn't do anything until she was pregnant, that much had already been proven.

Tyrion pushed himself into the empty space beside her, not sure of how close he was allowed. He motioned for her to bend down to him, so he could whisper to her.

"I want you to know that I am not exactly happy with where you place your trust. But, I _do_ understand that the word "home" would have made you deaf to everything else," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.

"For me to think of you as a friend and to put my trust in you _will_ take time, Tyrion. But I think that today you've proven it will not be impossible for me." _Affection from others is to him what water is to a thirsty man._

"Those are certainly good news for me, I must say."

_He desperately craves it._

"Now then," he pushed himself closer to her so they wouldn't have to strain their necks while whispering, "Shae and Bronn have been given the job of finding him and interrogate. I believe it will only take a sweet smile, few cups of wine and a large sum of gold to loosen him up." And afterwards, Bronn was supposed to make sure that the information the fool held would not be available to anyone else, ever again, but he wasn't going to tell Sansa that. She seemed shaken enough from knowing she might _almost_ have had a part in killing someone, he didn't want to know her reaction if she found out Ser Dontos had been killed because of his involvement with her.

_Ser Dontos._

It annoyed him more than he cared to admit that she had more faith in that bloody fool than in him. He'd wanted to shake her around, yell at her, ask what the fuck she had been thinking, _why_ she had trusted that dimwitted drunkard. But of course he'd never lay a hand on his sweet, innocent wife, who still had a purple cheek and light scars on her calve. All because he couldn't keep his vows and protect her. He wasn't sure how he could make her understand that he hated a part of his family just as much as she did.

He was getting pent up with frustration. He needed Shae, but he was too tired to find her in the evenings and she was too busy in the mornings. But every time he thought of Shae, a small part of him felt guilty, the part that wanted him to be a loyal husband. But at bigger part of him felt like all he needed was a good fuck... and it wasn't though as if Sansa would mind though, would it? If she did, she'd do something about it, she'd invite him between those stiff Stark-knees of hers that wouldn't bend, she'd kiss him sober...

"Should we try to learn those last steps? We only have today left," he heard her say. He shook his head.

"I don't think either of us could concentrate on dancing at the moment," Tyrion muttered back, rubbing his face.

"It's the only thing we _should_ concentrate on at the moment." She rose up to her feet and held out her hand to him. "Come, Tyrion. It will do us good to focus on the dancing."

How could one say no to those captivating, blue eyes?

"My feet will have fallen off from exhaustion tomorrow night," he grumbled, but allowed her to pull him from the sofa.

"I will have to remind you that this was your idea to begin with. But get me drunk tomorrow night, and I just might be tricked into rubbing them."

Tyrion grinned at that comment and Sansa rewarded him with a shy smile.

* * *

They had decided to wait in the Godswood for Bronn to return with news. He was quick about it, bending down to Tyrion, whispering for one instant, then straightening up again and walking swiftly away.

The poison _had_ been meant for King Joffrey. And who had planned it?

_Littlefinger._

Petyr _fucking_ Baelish.

The man infuriated Tyrion to such a degree that he wasn't sure he ever wanted to meet him in person again, for fear of attacking him on the spot, and to hell with any consequences. Sansa wasn't exactly surprised that it was Petyr who was behind it, she confided to Tyrion that he seemed to have a special interest in her from the moment they met, most likely because she was Catelyn's daughter.

"This still leaves one piece missing," Tyrion muttered. It was almost nightfall and they were all alone, but he wouldn't risk speaking too loudly.

"What piece is that?" Sansa asked. They were sitting close, so anyone trying to listen in would have to be right next to them.

"Someone else must have been supposed to take one of those stones. I don't think Baelish would have trusted Ser Dontos with such a delicate mission, and it would have been pointless in giving you the hairnet if he was to use them anyway."

Sansa nodded. Ser Dontos hadn't told her what the amethysts were hiding, she had not been supposed to use them.

"Would you..." he glanced at her, "how much of a direwolf resides in you? Are you up for something daring and dangerous?"

"It depends on how dangerous."

"Would you wear the hairnet tomorrow evening? It has only non-poisonous stones now. If you would wear it we could set up a trap, keep an eye out for _anyone_ trying to get close to your hair, and, well, it depends on who the culprit it, what we will do then."

"I will wear it. I want to find out who else was planning on using me," Sansa whispered with more confidence than she felt. Tyrion felt a surge of pride go through him.

"That's the Sansa I want to see more of," he said, with as much pride in his voice as he could. Crimson red started to appear on her neck and face, but she spoke nonchalantly.

"But I wouldn't know what to say to that person. "Excuse me, were you going to take the poisonous stones? Yes, they're not in my hairnet anymore, sorry about that, what were you going to use them for?" It would be interesting, wouldn't it?"

Tyrion chuckled.

"Let me deal with that. I want to leave you out of this, as much as I'm able."

"No." She shook her head slowly, eyebrows furrowed together. "I don't want to be _left out _of anything ever again. That's the sole reason we're in this trouble to begin with. I'll let you do the talking, but I'll stand right beside you, listening to every word." Her jaw clenched slightly. "I will not be used again."

Tyrion gave her a small nod.

"Welcome to the game, Sansa." He rose to his feet, and Sansa was about to say something when they saw a young couple entering the Godswood. Tyrion cleared his throat and held out his hand so Sansa. "Now, should we try and see if we can master those final steps in that bloody dance? I want us to have those three dances together, I will not rest tonight until we've gotten the hang of the last one!"

Their attention and focus hadn't been very good the whole day, with Sansa still in shock and waiting for someone to jump out at her and charge her with the conspiracy of killing the king, and Tyrion annoyed and trying to plan the next day. Everything had been more awkward and stiff than usually. Finding out who was behind their troubles seemed to lift a heavy burden off them.

"We should eat something first. I should, at least, I haven't tasted anything since morning."

"Oh, did it also ruin your appetite to learn of what was supposed to don your hair?" He lowered his voice as he said that. "I barely slept last night, I felt so ill. How about some light courses to nibble on between rehearsals?"

"If I had known you were such a passionate learner when it came to dancing, and if we would have had the time, I would have insisted on us learning this before our own marriage."

"Truly?"

Sansa gave a rueful expression.

"Perhaps not." The thought of him putting his small arms on her waist would have had her sprinting away few weeks ago. They walked to their apartments on top of the Kitchen Keep in silence, both too lost in their own thoughts to try and make some small talk. Shae was waiting for them when they came, readying all of Sansa's gowns and jewelry for the next day. She gestured at the hairnet, lying innocently on the table. Beside it were seven dark purple stones, which Tyrion quickly grabbed and put in his pockets.

"Shae, could you fetch us something light for dinner and bring it to the solar? We should probably starve ourselves before the feast tomorrow, but I am a greedy little dwarf. Come my lady, we are so very close to conquering this."

The rest of the evening was spent mostly in silence while dancing, except for the occasional instruction from Sansa, "use your toes when taking this turn" or "take slower steps and bigger, not fast and small ones, we don't want you falling over". They didn't feel comfortable with any subject to talk of, so they kept on dancing until they were both tired enough to fall asleep standing and Tyrion had all but gotten the hang of all his steps and movements.

It wasn't until they were both in bed that Sansa realized they hadn't gone to sleep simultaneously since their wedding night. Sometimes he came shortly after her, when she was starting to doze off, but they'd never been making themselves ready at the same time or climbed into the bed at the same moment.

It was awkward, Sansa decided, as she lay on her back and pulled the covers over her. Fortunately, Tyrion always made it his job to lighten the mood.

"The next time I have an idea that involves me using my legs more than usually, kindly hit me in the head. Gently, though, and not with anything sharp," he said and pulled the covers over himself. His feet would be aching until next spring if they continued like this.

"Or anything heavy?" Sansa asked. She blamed her exhaustion for saying such things, teasing Tyrion was not something she usually felt comfortable doing.

"Alright, just _pat me_ on the head and whisper "the dance for Joff's wedding" or something. That should do the trick." He turned slightly so he was looking at her.

"Yes, gladly, Tyrion," she answered with a yawn, but turned also on her side to get a better look at him. It was strange to have him at her own eye-level. He held out his hand to her, but Sansa's sleepiness made her miscalculate the distance when holding out her own arm, so he ended up holding her wrist.

"I will bring you home, Sansa. I promise you. It will not happen tomorrow, or in a moon's turn, but I will do it," he whispered sincerely.

"I will not go home until spring comes, I know that," she whispered back. "This will be a long winter, I do not think I want to face it in the north, unprepared."

"When spring comes. Then we will go north," Tyrion agreed. They fell asleep after those words, with him still holding her wrist.

* * *

Tyrion kept to tradition and was awake before Sansa the morning of the royal wedding. They weren't holding hands anymore, in fact no part of them was touching, but the gap between them was not quite as enormous as usually. He took that as a good sign.

Their preparations were done in silence, with Shae helping Sansa and Pod helping Tyrion. He noticed Shae giving him dirtier looks than usual. What had he done now? Was she mad at him for enjoying some quality time with his _wife_? By the looks she gave him, he guessed he had more chance at the moment consummating his marriage with Sansa than getting beneath Shae's skirts.

They left their rooms, with Shae throwing one last death glare at them, and headed to the Queen's Ballroom for breakfast, with the Lannisters and the Tyrell men. It was mostly uneventful, until Joffrey received their gift.

With a very practiced calm, Sansa listened to him make fun of their still unconsummated marriage, offering to show his uncle how to put a baby in her belly. When his attention had gone from them, Sansa leaned down to Tyrion as he gulped down his wine in anger.

"It's not too late to change the stones back in the hairnet," she whispered into his ear. His lips twitched a little bit upwards. After Joff destroyed the book Tyrion made a comment about a knife of Valyrian steel, but it seemed to Sansa that some form of unheard communication had happened in front of her. It wasn't until they were back in their litter that she thought it safe to bring it up.

"A knife of Valyrian steel, with dragonbone hilt, yes... I would rather not disclose it to you at present time," he said and rubbed his scar.

"I told you of my conversation with your father," Sansa reminded him quietly.

"After hiding from me for a whole day, being ignored for two more and finally attacked by that bloody idiot snake-boy-king we have, yes, you did." He peered out of the almost closed curtains. "I will tell you about it, but not today." But perhaps sooner than he wanted. His nephew would not want him running around with the information of who was behind the man that tried to kill Bran Stark while he was still unconscious in bed. Those stones might be put to use after all, but not tonight, and not without careful planning.

The ceremony was long and beautiful. When Joffrey put his cloak of protection over Margaery's shoulders, Sansa, without looking at him, snuck a hand on Tyrion's shoulder and rested it on his back. Neither of them knew if it was another offer of apology, but neither of them cared. The gesture was there, and it was one of the few times Sansa had touched him of her own accord in public.

Then, at last, it was time for them to change for the feast itself. Pod did not know anything of the hairnet, and it would be best to keep it that way. He was very likely to blurt something out to someone, unintentionally. Tyrion watched in silence as Shae arranged Sansa's hair artfully into the once deadly silver hairnet. It was strange to see them together like that. Sansa showed to emotion on her face, and had managed to make her eyes absolutely empty. He knew it was a sign that she was trying to calm herself down. Shae, on the other hand, was wearing a look of concentration while arranging her mistress's hair, and slight annoyance when seeing Tyrion, which changed again to a softer look when she spoke to Sansa.

One girl could remain a stoic statue for the rest of her life, the other wore every emotion on her face, ready for all the world to see how she felt at that moment. But he knew Sansa didn't _want_ to carry on as an ice-statue, he had seen her blossom when dancing and thrive when Kevan told her about all of Tyrion's shenanigans at Casterly Rock. He let Pod help him into his doublet. Those two women would be the death of him.

When finally ready, they walked down to the river of people flowing to the feast. But before they started to perform their necessary courtesies, Sansa pulled Tyrion to the side and knelt in front of him. He could feel her hands tremble when she put them on his shoulders.

"Tyrion," she whispered softly, "when we find that _person_, please, do not make a fuss. I do not wish to draw any attention to us. Joff will think that I was in on this plot, I know he will."

"He will never hear a word of it," Tyrion promised. Sansa nodded, but didn't let go of his shoulders.

_She's still afraid of that I'll tell someone about her part in this._

"Sansa," he took her hands off his shoulders and held them, "you have faced worse than this. You are a daughter of the North, married into the most powerful family in Westeros. Either you are still a direwolf, or you have become a lion, it doesn't matter. Both animals are fierce. They do not show fear, they don't even feel it, and neither should you."

Sansa shook her head.

"You have never spent time with animals that are preyed on, have you? It's those animals that have learned not to show fear, not to let anyone around them know when they are in pain, because it could be fatal to them if an animal of prey learns they are wounded. Do you know what sheep do when in pain?" she said. Tyrion shook his head slowly. "They grind their teeth, and _yawn._ What do wolves do when hurt?"

"Whine?"

She nodded.

"Sansa, I was trying to make you feel better by saying those things, don't ruin it for me!"

"You did make me feel better. I am no direwolf, I have no pack, it will be a long time until I consider myself a lion, but neither am I Cersei's little dove nor the Hound's little, caged bird."

"So now you are a fearless sheep?" Hadn't he already given up on trying to understand his wife? "What will your words be, _hear me bleat_?"

Sansa looked away, trying to contain her laughter, but when Tyrion snorted loudly at his own joke, they both gave into the full laughter that was threatening to burst. Here they were, in the middle of the royal wedding, trying to find out who meant to kill the King, and Sansa was educating Tyrion about sheep. It wasn't exactly how they had envisioned the royal wedding feast to start.

Sansa kept one arm on Tyrion's shoulder as she rose to her feet, graceful as ever, and they started mingling around. She did most of the talking, praising and complimenting everyone around her with a practiced ease. They met Ser Kevan, holding his son Lancel up, who had been bedridden since the battle, and looked like a walking corpse. Yet Sansa praised him as well, and Kevan in turn asked how Tyrion's overindulgence was coming along.

"Quite well, thank you. I do hope you will stay for the feast, I am quite sure Tyrion wants to show off his newly found skill," she answered with twinkling eyes.

"Oh, and pray tell, what skill is that?" Ser Kevan asked with great interest. Sansa looked at Tyrion, who gave her a nod.

"I have always been quite fond of dancing, but it seems my lord husband has not participated a great deal in such activities in later years. Very recently, I convinced him to practice dancing with me, and it has been going absolutely splendidly!"

Kevan's eyes widened, and his smile as well. Tyrion cleared his throat.

"My lady wife is too kind, and has too much patience for me. _She_ has been doing splendidly, I have been stepping on her toes and tripping us," he said apologetically. Sansa smiled down to him.

"But the toe-stepping has lessened greatly," she answered, with Kevan shaking his head fondly and a deep rumbling sound coming from his chest.

"I shall await it with great anticipation," he said, and with that they left father and son beaming with happiness.

They continued to walk around, hoping for someone to come near to Sansa's hair and reach for a stone. Then, finally, it happened. Lady Olenna commented on how the wind must have gotten into her hair, and stretched her old hand to fix the hairnet and Sansa's loose strands of hair. Sansa gripped Tyrion's shoulder while Lady Olenna continued to fuss over her, speaking of Sansa's sudden loss of family and how people shouldn't be murdered in weddings, it would make the men evade them even more. To be sure that she wasn't making a mistake, Sansa looked up to the sky while pondering the difference in climate between Highgarden and King's Landing, giving Tyrion a better view of the back of her head.

"Don't you think it's quite a warm evening for the autumn, Tyrion?" she asked and looked at him.

"Yes," was all he said in a grave voice, leaving no doubt in Sansa's mind that a stone was now missing in her hairnet.

"Oh, if you ever get cold here, you should come and visit me in Highgarden, the autumns there are always very beautiful and warm," Lady Olenna said.

"You are too kind, my lady," said Sansa, "but my place is with my lord husband. He has been so very kind to me, I do not want to part with him just yet. Only in the last few days, I had the misfortune of almost ruining the beautiful hairnet that I have now. It turned out several of the amethysts were loose, and Tyrion went through _so_ _much_ trouble finding out where they came from and having them replaced in time for the feast." She didn't know where the words came from, she hadn't planned them, Tyrion was supposed to talk. But she knew when she looked at Lady Olenna that she was looking at what could be her in many, many years; the old lady understood every word, but kept her toothless smile and posture while shaking her head slightly.

"Did he now? Such a nice, young man you have found there, but what a pity, I'm in such a need of the company of someone such as yourself, my lady, with my Margaery and her ladies all stuck here after the wedding." She smiled at them, and Sansa saw her caress the stone in her hand with one thumb.

"Yes, and they are so young, it could be quite a long time that dear Margaery will be stuck here in marriage," Sansa continued, but felt Tyrion move closer. She quickly closed her mouth and allowed him to take over.

"My lady," Tyrion took a step closer and spoke in a hushed voice, "I will have to be quick about this. We do not object to your plan, but I will not have my wife be an unknowing participant. The stones are securely hidden away, and should the need arise, they will be put to good use. Did you have a scapegoat planned?"

"Why, of course, it was you." Lady Olenna cackled and shook with laughter. Sansa saw how Tyrion paled considerably.

"Well, then I'm certainly glad this did not go through," he said after swallowing hard.

"And poor Petyr, I know he went through so much trouble. We will have to speak tomorrow, all three of us, you must join me for a cup of tea. Oh, but, before I go, since his hard work is all for naught anyway, you both might want to go before the Summer Isles dancers have finished. There was a surprise for you after them, but as a favor for not giving me away, I'm letting you know of it. Tyrells also pay their debts."

"That is very kind of you, my lady," Sansa said politely. "And I would love to visit you at Highgarden some time, especially if my lord husband could accompany me."

"If I have the time, as Master of Coin my time is quite packed. But we must be seated now, please excuse us. We shall see you again tomorrow for tea."

"Oh, yes, I've heard those dwarf pennies are quite notorious, you must be busy collecting them. Now, where are Left and Right? Those seventy-seven courses will not eat themselves!" With that the little old woman shuffled away, leaving Sansa and Tyrion to stare after her. Tyrion clutched her arm as they forced themselves to walk forward. It wasn't until they were seated that they dared to speak again.

"Do you know what you just did?" he asked, fortunately comfortably far away from the King and Queen.

"I am so sorry, my lord, I didn't mean to, the words just came out of my mouth..." Sansa was breathing heavily, but that was the only sign she made of being emotionally distraught, her hands were not clenched together and she sat straight and normally. Tyrion shook his head and grabbed her arm again while he whispered to her.

"You just made Lady Olenna realize that you might be worth her time and attention," he whispered. Those were not the words she had expected to hear, so she waited for him to continue. "You made it known that _you_ held power in that moment. Power over the fate of the King, and Lady Olenna." Sansa felt goosebumps prickle her skin, despite the arm air inside the hall. "And she liked how you handled it, and what we did to that power."

"And what exactly did we do?"

"Made her realize that we might be on her side after all. I had no objections against the original plan for these stones, only the way it was meant to be executed. Tomorrow's tea might be interesting, if we survive tonight's feast." He leaned slightly back so he could look her in the eye. "What you said was extremely reckless, but I was very impressed. I would have asked you to marry me in that moment, that is, if we weren't already. But I've never been as proud to have you as my wife," he said sincerely, hoping the words weren't too jumbled. Sansa was used to praise for her beauty, her red hair, her smile and politeness. She was not used to praise for actions such as these. A small, almost shy, smile tugged at her lips, a smile that Tyrion had started to recognize as a true one. It could be identified by how she pressed her lips lightly together in an effort to keep it from actually happening and looked in his direction, though not at his face.

"Thank you, my lord."

Her use of his title didn't bother him now. He knew very well that when inside her armor of courtesies she felt safe, and after this encounter she most likely needed it. What he didn't know was that the only word Sansa could hear inside her head was _power._ Since she set foot King's Landing, she'd never had power over anything, not herself and definitely not over others. But now she did.

And she liked the feeling of it.

"Do not let this get to your head, though," he added, as if he could read her thoughts, "you've only just started playing."

"You welcomed me to _the game_ yesterday. What game is it that I've started playing?"

"You are barely a player, and most of us will always be somebody's pawn as well. But it's the only game that matters in our lives now, the game of thrones." He shifted in his seat. "But this is a conversation for another time and other circumstances. Now, it's time to get drunk in honor of my bloody royal nephew!"

* * *

AN: the longer this becomes, the more I rewrite and edit, and then rewrite again. I don't want to include many actual scenes from the book, it feels equally strange to copy/paste them from the book as it does writing them in my own words. The part with sheep yawning is at least true in Iceland, and exactly for the reasons Sansa says. (_Yes_, I could incorporate sheep-wisdom in aSoIaF fic!)

Please, continue to leave reviews. If you ever doubt the power of reviewing, I'll have you know that if I hadn't received this great feedback for the first 5 chapters, this wouldn't have continued! (Those of you that reviewed then, give yourself a pat on the back!) Seriously, it means so much to see _what_ people like and dislike. Constructive criticism is also appreciated. Peace out and rock on!


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